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THE  ATHEN/EUM  PRESS  SERIES 

G.  L.  KITTREDGE  and  C.  T.  WINCHESTER 
GENERAL   EDITORS 


ROBERT    BURNS 


(After  a  painting  l>)  NASMYTH) 


Htben^um  press  Series 


SELECTIONS 


FROM  THE 


POEMS   OF  ROBERT  BURNS 


Edited 
With  Introduction,  Notes,  and  Vocabulary 

BY 

JOHN   G.  DOW,  M.A. 

LATE  INSTRUCTOR   IN   ENGLISH    IN    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF  WISCONSIN 


GINN  AND  COMPANY 

boston     •     NEW  YORK     •     CHICAGO     •     LONDON 
ATLANTA     •     DALLAS     •     COLUMBUS     •     SAN   FRANCISCO 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Halx. 


Copyright,  1898 
By  GINN  and  COMPANY 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


623.2 


GlNN  AND  COMPANY  •  PRO- 
PRIETORS •  BOSTON  •  U.S.A. 


PREFACE. 


The  present  volume  was  intended  by  the  editor,  the  late 
Professor  John  G.  Dow,  to  furnish  such  a  selection  from 
the  poems  of  Burns  as  should,  in  moderate  compass,  fully 
illustrate  the  character  and  the  range  of  his  genius.  In  the 
Introduction  it  was  Professor  Dow's  first  purpose  to  consider 
Burns  as  a  poet,  and  accordingl)-,  after  a  brief  biographical 
sketch,  he  passed  over  to  a  purely  literary  discussion.  The 
reader  will  find  a  chapter  on  the  obligations  of  Burns  to  his 
predecessors,  another  on  his  attitude  toward  nature,  and  so 
on.  He  will,  however,  discover  no  trace  of  that  liking  for 
moral  dissection  which  has  too  often  diverted  critics  from 
matters  more  immediately  pertinent.  The  sections  on  lan- 
guage, the  notes,  and  the  glossary,  will,  it  is  hoped,  afford 
the  reader  all  the  assistance  needed  to  make  the  poems 
completely  intelligible. 

Professor  Dow  died  suddenly  January  21,  1897.  His 
manuscript  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  complete,  but 
it  had  not  received  his  final  revision.  The  editors  of  the 
Athenaeum  Press  Series  regard  themselves  as  fortunate  in 
securing,  for  the  purpose  of  such  a  revision,  the  services  of 
William  Allan  Neilson,  Ph.D.  (Harvard),  a  graduate  of  the 
University  of  Edinburgh  and  a  close  student  of  Burns. 

G.  L.  K. 
July  i,  1898.  C.  T.  W. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Introduction. 

I.    Outline  of  the  Life  of  Burns xi 

II.    The  Scottish  Tongue xv 

III.  Scotch  Literature  before  Burns xx 

IV.  Scottish  Song  and  Music  before  Burns     .         .         .  xxix 
V.    Burns's  Work  in  its  Relation  to  the  Past     .         .         .  xxxviii 

VI.    Burns's  Work  in  General li 

Appendices. 

I.    Pronunciation Ixxxiii 

II.    Grammar Ixxxvi 

Bibliography xciii 

Song :  O  Tibbie,  I  hae  Seen  the  Day i 

Song :  Mary  Morison 2 

A  Prayer  in  the  Prospect  of  Death 3 

The  Death  and  Dying  Words  of  Poor  Mailie      ....  4 

Poor  Mailie's  Elegy         .         .         .         •         •         •       '  •         •         •  6 

Song :  My  Nanie,  O 8 

Song :  Green  Grow  the  Rashes 9 

Epistle  to  Davie 10 

Song:  Rantin  Rovin  Robin    .         . 15 

Address  to  the  Deil     . 16 

Death  and  Doctor  Plornbook 21 

To  John  Lapraik         .........  27 

To  William  Simson,  Ochiltree 32 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Holy  Fair 35 

To  the  Rev.  John  M'Math 43 

The  Braes  o'  Ballochmyle 46 

To  a  Mouse 47 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 49 

Halloween 55 

Scotch  Drink 63 

The  Auld  Farmer's  New-Year  Morning   Salutation  to  his  Auld 

Mare,  Maggie 67 

The  Twa  Dogs 71 

Epistle  to  James  Smith ,         ...  79 

The  Vision 85 

Address  to  the  Unco  Guid,  or  the  Rigidly  Righteous     ...  92 

Song  Composed  in  Spring  . 94 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy 96 

To  Mary 98 

Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend 98 

A  Dream loi 

On  a  Scotch  Bard,  Gone  to  the  West  Indies           ....  106 

A  Bard's  Epitaph 108 

The  Brigs  of  Ayr 109 

Lines  on  an  Interview  with  Lord  Daer        .         .         .         •         .  116 

A  Winter  Night 117 

Answer  to  Verses  Addressed  to  the   Poet  by  the  Guidwife  of 

Wauchope-House 122 

The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy 125 

The  Humble  Petition  of  Bruar  Water 126 

The  Banks  of  the  Devon 129 

Blythe,  Blythe  and  Merry  was  she 129 

M'Pherson's  Farewell 130 

My  Hoggie 131 

Epistle  to  Hugh  Parker 132 

Of  a'  the  Airts  the  Wind  can  Blaw 133 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PACK 

Auld  Lang  Syne '34 

Go  Fetch  to  me  a  Pint  o'  Wine I35 

John  Anderson  my  Jo I35 

Tarn  Glen 136 

Willie  Brewed  a  Peck  o'  Maut I37 

To  Mary  in  Heaven 13^ 

To  Dr.  Blacklock i39 

On  Captain  Matthew  Henderson 141 

Tam  o'  Shanter I45 

Bonie  Doon          .         .         •         •         •         •         •         •         •         •  ^5^ 

O  for  Ane-and-Twenty,  Tam i  S3 

Flow  Gently,  Sweet  Afton 153 

Ae  Fond  Kiss i54 

The  Deuk 's  Dang  o'er  my  Daddie 15S 

The  Deil's  Awa  wi' the  Exciseman 156 

Bessy  and  her  Spinnin  Wheel 156 

Bonie  Lesley IS7 

My  Ain  Kind  Dearie 158 

Highland  Mary 159 

Duncan  Gray 160 

Gala  Water 162 

Wandering  Willie 162 

Whistle,  and  I  'U  Come  to  you,  my  Lad 163 

Scots  wha  hae     ..........  164 

The  Lovely  Lass  of  Inverness 164 

Ca'  the  Yowes  to  the  Knowes 165 

The  Winter  of  Life 166 

Contented  wi'  Little 167 

My  Name's  Awa 167 

A  Man  's  a  Man  for  a'  That 168 

The  Lass  of  Ecclefechan 169 

Last  May  a  Braw  Wooer 170 

Epistle  to  Colonel  De  Peyster 171 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

O,  wert  thou  in  the  Cauld  Blast  ., »       173 

Fairest  Maid  on  Devon  Banks        .......     174 


Notes 175 

Glossary 251 

Index  of  First  Lines 285 


INTRODUCTION. 


I.     OUTLINE  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

Robert  Burns  was  born  on  the  25th  of  January,  1759; 
he  was  the  eldest  of  a  family  of  seven,  and  knew  hardship 
and  poverty  from  his  earliest  years.  His  father,  William 
Burnes,  a  type  of  Scottish  peasant  not  yet  extinct,  was  in- 
dustrious, temperate,  intelligent,  strong-willed,  and  deeply 
religious.  At  the  time  of  the  poet's  birth  William  Burnes 
was  a  crofter;  he  rented  and  farmed  seven  acres  of  land 
near  the  banks  of  the  Doon,  about  two  miles  from  the  town  of 
Ayr,  and  occupied  a  two-roomed  house,  built  of  stone  and 
clay  with  his  own  hands,  hard  by  the  kirk  of  Alloway. 
This  was  Burns's  home  for  the  first  seven  years  of  his  life. 
At  the  age  of  six  he  was  sent  to  school  under  John  Murdoch, 
an  excellent  young  teacher,  whom  the  villagers  of  Alloway 
clubbed  together  to  employ  for  a  small  recompense.  In 
1776,  William  Burnes,  ambitious  to  do  well  by  his  children 
and  to  keep  them  under  his  own  eye  instead  of  sending  them 
out  into  service,'  rented  the  neighboring  farm  of  Mount 
Oliphant  with  borrowed  money.  Robert  and  his  brother 
Gilbert  continued  to  go  to  school  at  Alloway,  but  on  Mur- 
doch's retirement  in  1768,  when  Robert  was  but  nine  years 
old,  their  regular  schooling  came  to  an  end.  The  substance 
of  Burns's  education  was  derived  from  the  careful  instruc- 
tion of  his   father  and  from  his   own  reading ;  ^  this    was 

^  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  20,  note. 
^  See  Gen.  Introd.,  p.  xxxix. 


xu  INTRODUCTION. 

supplemented  by  one  quarter  at  Dalrymple  parish  school  in 
1772,  a  few  weeks  at  Ayr  Academy  in  1773,  during  which 
he  revised  his  English  and  learned  some  French,  and  part 
of  the  summer  of  1776  at  Kirkoswald,  where  he  began  to 
study  surveying,  had  his  trigonometry  overset  by  a  girl,  and 
became  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  smugglers.  The  con- 
stant companionship  of  his  father  was  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance to  his  intellectual  growth.  Apart  from  regular 
instruction  during  the  winter  evenings,  the  mature  experi- 
ence of  William  Burnes  in  matters  both  intellectual  and 
practical,  his  clear  and  sure  insight  into  men  and  things,  his 
stubborn  integrity,  and  his  lifelong  and  heroic  but  hopeless 
struggle  to  beat  poverty  with  independence,  passed  like  rich 
seed  into  the  mind  of  his  son,  and  became  at  once  the  ethic 
and  the  material  of  poetry.*  In  those  early  years,  too,  the 
boy's  imagination  was  fed  from  the  store  of  ballads,  songs, 
and  legends  which  his  mother  knew,  and  from  the  fairy  tales 
of  an  old  domestic,  Betty  Davidson.^  In  other  respects  the 
home  was  governed  by  a  profoundly  religious  sentiment, 
though  not  darkened  by  the  Calvinistic  bigotry  then  preva- 
lent in  Scotland.  But  poverty  gripped  the  family  very  hard. 
The  farm  was  "  a  ruinous  bargain,"  the  good  landlord  died, 
the  pinch  of  debt  came,  and  they  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
merciless  factor.^  Then  began  for  Burns  the  "unceasing 
moil  of  a  galley-slave."  "*  His  father,  who  had  married  late, 
was  beginning  to  age  and  to  feel  the  effects  of  early  hard- 
ship. At  fifteen  the  son  was  doing  a  man's  work,  and  at 
sixteen  he  was  the  chief  laborer  on  the  farm.  The  strain  on 
his  undeveloped  system  was  so  great  and  the  living  so  poor 
that  even  his  unusually  powerful  physique  suffered,  and  he 

1  See  esp.  The  Twa  Dogs,  C.  S.  N,  and  Man  was  Made  to  Mourn. 

2  See  To  the  Deil,  63,  note. 

^  See  The  Twa  Dogs,  96,  note. 

*  Autobiographical  letter  to  Dr.  Moore. 


INTRODUCTION.  XIU 

became  the  subject  of  chronic  fainting  fits  and  melancholia. 
About  this  time  he  began  to  fall  in  love  and  make  his  first 
efforts  in  poesy.  In  1776,  too,  "  in  absolute  defiance  of  his 
father's  commands,"  he  attended  a  dancing  school,  and,  out 
of  an  ungainly,  shy,  and  pious  lad  he  rapidly  developed  into 
a  social  favorite  and  a  gallant,  who,  besides  his  own  amours, 
was  "in  the  secret  of  half  the  loves  of  the  parish."^  In 
1777  the  family  removed  to  Lochlea,  another  poor  farm, 
about  ten  miles  northeast  of  Mount  Oliphant.  Here  they 
continued  the  same  laborious  struggle  with  poverty  for  seven 
years  longer,  until,  under  excessive  toil  and  a  burden  of  liti- 
gation, the  father  broke  down,  and  in  1784  was  "saved  from 
the  horrors  of  a  jail  "  by  the  kindly  intervention  of  death. 
During  these  years  Burns  dabbled  in  verse,  but  showed 
little  productive  power.  From  the  bondage  of  the  farm  he 
variously  sought  relief  in  the  social  relaxation  of  a  Bachelors' 
Club,  which  he  founded,  in  the  boon  companionship  of  Free- 
masonry,^ and  in  a  disastrous  attempt  to  enter  on  the  busi- 
ness of  a  flax-dresser.  This  last  venture  took  him  to  Irvine, 
where  he  met  the  young  sailor  to  whose  influence  he  attributes 
the  demoralization  of  his  respect  for  the  seventh  command- 
ment. At  the  same  time  he  proposed  marriage  to  Ellison 
Begbie  and  was  refused.^  In  Irvine,  too,  he  first  became 
acquainted  with  the  poems  of  Robert  Fergusson,  who  made 
him  "string  his  wildly  sounding  lyre  with  emulating  vigor." 
Returning  to  Lochlea,  he  began  to  keep  a  Commonplace 
Book,  copy  out  his  compositions,  and  study  the  criticism  of 
verse.  He  was  coming  to  see  that  poetry  was  his  proper 
vocation,  and  henceforth  his  history  may  be  traced  in  his 
writings.  On  his  father's  death,  he  and  Gilbert,  by  putting 
in  a  claim  for  arrears  of  wages,  saved  from  the  general  ruin 

*  Autob.  letter  to  Dr.  Moore. 
2  See  To  the  Deil,  73,  note. 

*  See  Mary  Moi-ison,  notes. 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

as  much  as  enabled  them  to  rent  and  stock  the  farm  of 
Mossgiel.  At  Whitsunday,  1784,  the  family  removed  to 
their  new  scene  of  trial,  and  very  soon  thereafter  the  poet 
met  his  fate,  Jean  Armour.^  Towards  the  close  of  the 
same  year  he  incurred  kirk-censure,  and  began  his  series  of 
satires  on  the  Auld  Licht  clergy.''^  These  satires  won  for 
him  a  local  renown,  which  encouraged  him  to  great  poetical 
activity  during  the  next  two  years.  But  two  successive  crop 
failures  and  disgust  with  his  miserable  lot,  aggravated  by 
the  result  of  his  intimacy  with  Jean,  their  irregular  marriage 
and  her  parents'  attempt  to  annul  the  bond,  made  him  re- 
solve to  quit  Scotland.  The  publication  of  his  collected 
poems  with  a  view  to  raising  his  passage  money  and  the 
sudden  fame  which  resulted  "overthrew  all  his  schemes  by 
opening  new  prospects  to  his  poetic  ambition."  In  Novem- 
ber, 1786,  he  went  to  Edinburgh,  then  a  considerable  literary 
centre,  and  carried  all  classes  by  storm  with  the  brilliance 
and  force  of  his  personality.  In  1787  he  published  a  new 
and  enlarged  edition  of  his  poems,  from  which  he  cleared 
as  much  money  as  enabled  him  to  give  his  brother  on  Moss- 
giel ;^2oo  and  stock  a  farm  for  himself  in  Dumfriesshire. 
This  was  Ellisland,  a  wretched  choice,  to  which,  after  a 
regular  marriage,  he  brought  his  wife  Jean  in  December, 
1788.  To  eke  out  a  living,  he  secured  a  post  on  the  excise,^ 
and  in  1791,  his  farming  being  again  a  failure,  he  abandoned 
Ellisland  and  removed  with  his  family  to  the  town  of  Dum- 
fries. Since  1788  he  had  been  writing  songs  for  Johnson's 
Scots  Musical  Museum,  and  in  1792  he  undertook  work  of 
the  same  kind  for  George  Thomson's  collection.*  He  re- 
garded this  as  a  patriotic  work,  for  which  he  would  accept 

1  See  Ep.  to  Davie,  108,  note. 

2  See  Ep.  W.  S.,  H.  F.,  and  Ep.  McM.,  notes,  and  Introd.,  pp.  Ixx- 
Ixxv. 

8  See   To  Dr.  Blacklock,  notes.  *  See  Bonie  Lesley,  note. 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  XV 

no  payment,  and  this  employment  in  the  service  of  his 
country's  muse  kept  his  spirit  bright  to  the  last.  But  the 
hope  had  been  stricken  out  of  his  life,  his  excise  work  was 
both  odious  and  exacting,  cronies  gathered  round  him  and 
toping  worshippers  who  thirsted  to  be  able  to  say  they  had 
drunk  a  glass  with  Burns,  and  henceforth  his  course  was 
down.  Under  repeated  assaults  his  health  broke,  he  sank 
into  a  consumption,  and  on  the  21st  of  July,  1796,  in  family 
circumstances  of  the  acutest  misery,  the  stormy  soul  passed 
into  its  rest.^ 

II.    THE    SCOTTISH   TONGUE.2 

Lowland  Scotch,  the  language  used  by  Burns,  and  still 
living  as  ■Bl  patois  throughout  the  south  and  east  of  Scotland, 
traces  its  descent  from  the  Northumbrian  dialect  of  Old  Eng- 
lish. By  the  Danish  settlement  of  Northumbria  during  the 
9th  century,  the  Angles  who  inhabited  Lothian  and  Tweed- 
dale  were  cut  off  from  close  connection  with  the  southern 
kingdom,  and,  after  much  conflict  during  the  loth  century, 
their  territory  passed  by  regular  cession  under  the  sway 
of  Kenneth,  king  of  the  Celtic  Scots,  who  engaged  that 
"the  people  of  those  parts  should  retain  their  ancient  cus- 
toms and  their  Anglian  speech."  Students  of  Shakspere's 
Macbeth  are  familiar  with  the  revolution  which  transformed 
this  Celtic  kingdom  of  Scotland  into  one  whose  language, 
manners,  and  interests  were  Anglian.  Malcolm  Canmore, 
the  successor  of  Macbeth,  besides  having  spent  his  youth  at 
the  Anglo-Norman  court  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  brought 

^  The  episodes  of  Mary  Campbell  and  Mrs.  Maclehose  are  related  in 
the  Notes.  See  To  Mary,  Highland  Mary,  To  Mary  in  Heaven,  Ae 
Fond  Kiss. 

2  For  further  study  of  this  subject,  see  The  Dialect  of  the  Southern 
Counties  of  Scotland,  by  Dr.  J.  A.  H.  Murray,  pub.  for  the  Philological 
Society,  London,  1873. 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

with  him  a  powerful  Saxon  influence  in  his  wife  Margaret, 
sister  of  the  yEtheling.  During  his  reign  (1058-93)  a  strong 
Anglo-Saxon  policy  was  maintained,  refugees  from  the  harry- 
ing of  Northumbria  were  sheltered  and  encouraged,  the 
nobility  was  reformed  by  the  granting  of  estates  to  southern 
exiles  who  became  personally  bound  to  the  throne,  and  the 
church  was  organized  anew  on  a  southern  plan  by  Queen 
Margaret.  Their  sons  and  successors  continued  to  identify 
themselves  with  the  Anglian  interest,  and  during  the  next 
two  hundred  years,  under  the  combined  influence  of  court, 
nobility,  and  church,  the  Anglian  population  and  the  Anglian 
tongue  spread  northwards  round  the  eastern  shore  through 
Southeast  Perthshire,  Angus,  the  Mearns,  Aberdeenshire, 
and  Elgin,  as  far  as  the  Moray  Firth,  and  westwards  till 
they  covered  all  the  country  south  of  the  Clyde  except  the 
wilds  of  Galloway. 

In  the  language  of  Burns  we  have  Lowland  Scotch,  it  is 
true,  only  after  it  has  been  subjected  to  a  long  process  of 
accommodation  to  later  English  forms  and  usages  ;  but  even 
in  Burns  it  is  easy  to  trace  the  dominant  assertion  of  the 
Scandinavian  family  likeness  which  differentiates  the  Anglian 
dialects  of  the  north  from  the  Saxon  dialects  of  the  south, 
and  especially  the  Norse  characteristics  which  diflierentiate 
Scotch  Anglian  from  the  Anglian  spoken  south  of  the  Scotch 
frontier.^  The  Anglian  tongue  was  not  Scandinavian,  but 
West-Germanic  at  base.  From  the  first  the  Angles  bore  a 
strong  kinship  of  both  race  and  language  with  the  Scandi- 
navians, and  later  their  speech  acquired  an  additional  im- 
press of  Scandinavian  influence  from  the  Danish  and  Norse 
settlement  of  Northumbria.  The  greater  conspicuousness 
of  the  Scandinavian  element  in  Lowland  Scotch  is  due 
partly  to  the  fact  that  the  more  northerly  province,  lying 
somewhat  out  of  the  way  of  influences  that  operated  in  Eng- 

1  But  cf.  Dr.  Murray,  Dialect  of  So.  Counties,  p.  24. 


INTRODUCTION.  xvii 

land,  was  better  adapted  to  preserve  the  original  words  and 
forms,  and  partly  to  distinct  Scandinavian  infusion  operating 
freely  on  a  language  already  closely  akin.  Both  during  and 
after  the  Danish  invasions  of  England,  great  portions  of 
Scotland  were  settled  by  immigrants  direct  from  Norway. 
They  poured  round  the  north  and  down  the  west  coast, 
settling  the  Orkney  and  Shetland  Islands,  Caithness  and 
the  Hebrides,  established  themselves  on  the  fiords  of 
Argyleshire,  the  coast  of  Ireland,  and  the  Isle  of  Man,  and 
crossed  thence  to  the  lands  about  the  Clyde  and  the  Solway 
Firth.  The  physical  aspect  of  the  people  and  certain 
peculiarities  of  their  dialect  would  also  indicate  a  distinct 
Norwegian  impress  on  the  mixed  Anglo-Celtic  population  of 
Angus  and  the  Mearns.  The  extent  to  which  they  mingled 
with  the  Angles  of  Lothian  is  less  evident;  there  they  met 
with  a  more  numerous  kindred  from  Jutland,  Friesland,  and 
the  lower  reaches  of  the  Elbe,  and  were  readily  absorbed. 
These  direct  accessions  of  Scandinavian  influence  were 
further  augmented  by  the  severity  of  the  Norman  Conquest 
on  the  north  of  England,  which  drove  many  Norwegians  and 
Danes,  who  had  there  become  domesticated,  to  cross  into  a 
refuge  open  to  them  beyond  the  Cheviots.  This  graft  of 
Danish  stock  may  account  for  certain  Danish  words  and 
forms  in  Lowland  Scotch,  but  the  Scandinavian  influence  on 
Scotland  was  mainly  Norse. 

While  the  Anglian  tongue  was  spreading  in  Scotland  it 
suffered  some  modification  from  its  contact  with  the  retiring- 
Celtic.  This  modifying  influence  mainly  affected  the  pro- 
nunciation, but  it  also  brought  an  appreciable  influx  of 
Celtic  vocables  ;  it  did  not  affect  Anglian  grammar.  The 
spread  of  Anglian  was  in  great  measure  due  to  the  adoption 
of  it  by  those  whose  mother  tongue  was  Gaelic  or  Cymric, 
and  whose  organs  of  speech,  being  habituated  to  the  Celtic 
sounds,  preserved    some    peculiarities    of    utterance    which 


xviu  introduction: 

influenced  the  forms  of  words/  just  as  French  words  became 
modified  in  form  when  they  became  current  in  the  unaccus- 
tomed moutlis  of  the  English  during  the  13th  and  14th 
centuries.  This  condition  of  things  was  also  favorable  to 
the  importation  of  Celtic  vocables  into  the  Lowland  speech, 
and,  although  the  true  power  of  the  Celtic  race  lies  in  the 
spiritual  and  emotional  elements  it  has  contributed  to  the 
Teutonic  genius  through  racial  intermixture,  this  incidental 
component  of  Lowland  Scotch  is  large  enough  to  be 
worthy  of  a  more  detailed  consideration  than  it  has  yet 
received.^ 

A  slight  infusion  of  Dutch  which  we  find  may  have  come 
with  the  Flemish  settlers  who  were  encouraged  by  the  family 
of  Malcolm  Canmore.^  But  the  next  considerable  influence 
which  affected  the  Lowland  Scotch  tongue  was  that  of 
France.  This  French  influence  ran  in  two  currents,  one  by 
way  of  England,  the  other  direct  from  France.  The  former 
began  with  the  introduction  of  Normal  feudalism  and  culture 
north  of  the  Tweed  during  the  12th  and  13th  centuries,  and 
then  the  Scotch  language  took  color  from  the  Normanized 
civilization  of  which  it  was  the  medium.  During  the  14th 
and  15  th  centuries  the  same  current  passed  northward, 
mainly  by  the  channel  of  Chaucer's  poetry,  and  the  court 
language  and  literature  of  Scotland  received,  though  in  a 
more  mechanical  way,  much  of  the  enrichment  th?.t  French 

1  See  Dr.  Murray's  Dialect  0/  So.  Counties,  pp.  51-54- 

2  As  it  is,  the  number  is  considerable  and  includes  words  not  merely 
"  relating  to  Celtic  institutions  and  customs."  The  following  are  taken 
entirely  from  the  text:  airt,  bog,  bogle(?),  brat,  brock,  caird,  cairn, 
clachan,  claivers,  coggie(?),  craig  (crag),  cranreuch,  creel,  crummock, 
downans,  duan,  filabeg,  glen,  gowan,  garten,  ingle,  kebbock,  knaggie, 
laddie,  lag,  linn,  lum,  neuk,  pownie,  scroggie,  skelp,  sonsie,  spleuchan, 
spunk,  tocher,  usquebeagh.     There  may  be  others. 

3  Examples  which  occur  in  the  text  are  :  heckle,  mutchkin, 
naig. 


INTRODUCTION.  XIX 

had  given  to  English.  To  what  extent  this  influence  affected 
the  language  of  the  common  people  it  is  of  course  impossible 
to  say.  The  second  of  the  currents  above  mentioned  began 
during  the  reign  of  William  the  Lion  (i  165-12 15).  The 
royal  alliance  which  this  king  formed  with  France  became 
an  hereditary  friendship.  Alike  during  the  long  Scotch 
struggle  for  independence  and  during  the  Hundred  Years' 
War  waged  by  England  for  possession  of  the  Fre.ich  crown, 
France  and  Scotland  were  traditional  friends  and  allies,  and 
both  saw  in  England  their  natural  enemy.  This  alliance 
was  superseded  by  the  union  of  the  Scotch  and  English 
crowns  in  1603,  but  the  friendly  tradition  still  survived, 
and  even  as  late  as  the  i8th  century  the  Stuarts  looked 
to  France  for  aid  in  their  attempt  to  recover  the  English 
crown. 

During  this  long  period  Scottish  civilization  became  satu- 
rated with  influences  from  France.  In  the  13th  and  14th  cen- 
turies, Scotch  students  flocked  to  the  University  of  Paris;  in 
the  15th,  Scotch  universities  were  founded  on  the  French 
model;  in  the  i6th,  Scotch  law  was  reorganized  according 
to  French  jurisprudence,  and  the  Scotch  kirk  and  Scotch 
theology  were  constituted  according  to  the  principles  and 
creed  of  the  French  reformer.  In  these  and  other  ways 
French  influence  dominated  Scottish  national  life,  and  this 
dominant  influence  showed  itself  especially  in  a  drenching 
of  the  Scotch  language  with  words,  forms,  shades  of  mean- 
ing, accents,  and  even  grammatical  solecisms,  drawn  from 
and  copied  after  the  French.  This  French  element  in  Low- 
land Scotch,  however,  was  different  from  the  French  ele- 
ment in  Middle  English;  in  the  former  case  there  was  not 
the  same  chemical  combination  of  the  two  tongues  that  there 
was  in  the  latter,  but  only  a  mechanical  intermixture,  which, 
in  course  of  time,  permitted  a  great  deal  of  this  uncombined 
matter  to  be  removed  by  the  filtration  which  time  effects. 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

Much,  however,  passed  into  the  current  stream  of  the  lan- 
guage inherited  by  Burns.^ 

III.     SCOTCH    LITERATURE   BEFORE   BURNS. 

After  the  Anglian  district  south  of  the  Tweed  was  con- 
solidated with  the  English  kingdom,  the  vernacular  spoken 
there  began  to  sink  into  the  position  of  a  vulgar  dialect. 
Literature  in  England  developed  in  another  form  of  the  lan- 
guage, the  Midland,  and  the  literature  of  the  Anglian  tongue 
was  finally  restricted  to  southern  Scotland.  There  it  found 
a  national  field,  with  a  national  audience  and  national  inspira- 
tion, and  flourished  vigorously  under  the  fostering  care  of 
court  and  clergy  and  learned  laymen.  But  the  Reformation 
and  the  Revival  of  Classical  Scholarship  gave  this  young 
literature  its  deathblow  by,  first  of  all,  diverting  the  channels 
of  literary  expression,  and,  secondly,  by  exhausting  the  intel- 
lect and  fretting  the  temper  of  the  nation  with  theological 
and  presbyterial  polemics.  When  the  New  Learning  spread 
northwards,  the  Scottish  scholars  were  seized  with  the  pas- 
sion for  classical  erudition,  which  made  men  all  over  Europe 
look  with  contempt  on  the    still   crude  European    tongues 

1  Dr.  Murray  (^Dialect  of  So.  Counties,  pp.  58,  59)  gives  a  long  list 
of  words,  many  of  them  extremely  barbaric,  used  by  writers  of  the  i6th 
century.  The  following  is  a  partial  list  of  words  and  forms  from  the 
present  text :  aiver,  baillie,  bawsent,  bonie,  breef,  brisket,  cartes,  causey, 
certes,  chimla,  corbie,  core,  curchie,  curple,  daintie,  dool,  douce,  fash, 
fause,  faut,  fawsont,  feat,  fen,  fracas,  gree,  grushie,  gizz,  gusty,  hurcheon, 
kimmer,  leal,  limmer,  lyart,  manteels,  marled,  mavis,  mell,  merle, 
mischanter,  plack,  pley,  plenish,  poortith,  pouch,  proves,  ratton,  saunt, 
scow'r,  seizin,  souple,  sowther,  spairge,  spence,  stank,  sten,  stoure, 
sucker,  tassie,  tester,  virl,  vauntie.  Note  also  such  accents  as  envy, 
deposite,  complaisance,  manteel  ;  the  vocalizing  of  /  in  words  like  faut, 
fause,  and  the  prevalence  of  the  French  u-sound,  as  in  sure,  dule,  loot, 
and  ou-sound,  as  in  court,  doubt,  pow'r,  which  are  pronounced  coort, 
doot,  poor. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxi 

and  court  the  majestic  beauty  of  Latin.  When  we  recollect 
that  Scotland  was  but  a  small  and  not  a  populous  kingdom, 
we  may  realize  how  severe  was  the  blow  to  the  vernacular 
Scotch  when  the  greatest  genius  of  the  country  of  that  age, 
George  Buchanan,  elected  to  write  almost  entirely  in  Latin. 
Side  by  side  with  Latin  scholarship  were  the  English  pro- 
clivities of  Knox  and  his  followers.  Knox  still  essayed  to 
write  Scotch,  but  he  Anglicized  his  diction  as  much  as  he 
Anglicized  his  politics.  He  represents  the  beginning  of 
that  tendency  which  was  by  and  by  to  make  English  the 
language  of  education  and  literature  in  Scotland,  the  lan- 
guage of  polite  society,  and  even  the  "  dress  "  language  of 
the  farmer  and  the  artisan.  So  much  was  Scotch  neglected 
by  the  Reformers  that  no  complete  vernacular  translation  of 
the  Bible  was  produced,  and  one  of  the  last  who  wrote  the  old 
language  in  its  purity  was  Ninian  Winzet,  Knox's  Catholic 
antagonist. 

The  union  of  the  crowns  in  1603  and  the  transference  of 
the  royal  seat  from  Edinburgh  to  London  reduced  Scotland 
to  an  appendage  of  England,  and  removed  one  of  the  most 
powerful  factors  in  the  cultivation  of  a  national  literature,  — 
the  fostering  tutelage  of  the  court.  But  the  union  did  more  : 
coming  as  it  did  immediately  after  the  Reformation,  it  left 
the  country  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  exponents  of  Calvin- 
istic  theology,  who  cared  nothing  for  literature.  The  air 
was  filled  with  strife  of  the  petty  schismatic  kind,  and  the 
mind  of  the  country  was  eaten  into  by  the  corrosive  action 
of  a  fiercely  argumentative  creed.  Altogether,  it  was  a 
bitter  and  unlovely  time,  which  was  raised  out  of  its  little- 
ness, without  losing  any  of  its  bitter  and  unlovely  qualities, 
first  by  the  roar  of  civil  war  and  that  stubborn  Scotch  devo- 
tion to  the  house  of  Stuart,  and  later  by  the  terrors  of 
religious  persecution.  The  tendency  to  write  for  English 
audiences  continued  to  grow  in  fashion,  but  the  old  vein  of 


xxu  INTRODUCTION. 

vernacular  literature  ceased  to  be  worked,  except  in  an  inci- 
dental way  by  the  writers  of  popular  songs  and  ballads ;  ^ 
this  field  offered  the  only  relief  which  a  highly  musical  and 
poetical  people  found  from  the  chills  of  presbyterial  rigor. 
With  the  Revolution  of  1688  and  the  stable  government  of 
William  III  came  a  promise  of  better  days ;  but  the  current 
of  tendency  was  now  more  than  ever  for  a  closer  union  with 
England.  Political  intrigue  accomplished  what  the  armies 
of  the  Plantagenet  had  failed  to  do,  and  in  1707  the  inde- 
pendent Scottish  Parliament  sitting  in  Edinburgh  was  merged 
in  that  which  met  at  Westminster.  The  last  symbol  of 
nationality  was  gone  ;  only  the  national  sentiment  remained  ; 
and  Scotland  became  a  mere  province  of  the  southern  king- 
dom. The  decay  of  the  language  is  sufficiently  indicated  by 
the  total  disappearance  of  Scotch  prose  and  the  complete 
ascendency  of  the  King  James  version  of  the  Bible.  A 
national  literature,  in  the  strict  sense,  was  forevermore  an 
impossibility  for  Scotland. 

During  the  i8th  century,  however,  under  the  privileges 
granted  by  the  Revolution  and  the  Act  of  Settlement,  litera- 
ture had  an  opportunity  of  reviving.  The  Parliamentary 
Union  destroyed  all  that  was  left  of  Scottish  nationality 
except  the  spirit  of  patriotism  that  was  later  to  give  Burns 
a  hot  blast  of  inspiration,  but  the  closer  union  with  England 
made  it  easier  for  Scottish  talent  to  rise  on  English  lines, 
and  lingering  patriotic  sentiment  and  that  home  love  which 
grows  warmer  under  real  or  fancied  injury  served  to  awake 
anew  the  vernacular  strain  in  verse.  Education  prospered 
in  the  four  universities  and  in  the  parochial  schools.  Lit- 
erary society  was  cultivated  in  Edinburgh  in  close  imitation 
of  the  club  life  of  London.  English  periodicals,  like  the 
Spectator,  found  a  ready  audience  in  the  northern  capital. 
The  correctness  and  intellectual  quality  of  the  school  of 
^  These  are  mentioned  later  in  the  chapter  on  Scottish  Song. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXlll 

Pope  were  as  diligently  studied  in  the  north  as  they  were 
in  the  south,  and  the  later  English  development  into  watery 
sentimentalism  was  faithfully  reflected  by  northern  imitators. 
The  great  body  of  literature  produced  in  Scotland  and  by 
Scottish  writers  who  went  to  London  was  in  the  English 
tongue,  and,  despite  a  few  qualities  that  give  it  a  northern 
individuality,  was  as  thoroughly  English  of  the  i8th  century 
as  though  there  had  been  no  division  between  the  two 
countries.'  The  qualities  that  distinguish  this  northern 
contribution  to  English  literature  and  entitle  it  to  special 
regard  in  respect  of  its  Scottish  origin  are  a  closer  touch 
with  physical  nature  and  a  richer  vein  of  romanticism,  both 
of  which  qualities  make  Scotland  appear  as  the  pioneer  of 
the  twofold  development  that  later  produced  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge, 

Alongside  of  this  Scotch- English  literature  was  the  Scotch 
revival,  which  culminated  in  the  work  of  Burns.  This  re- 
vival took  a  double  growth,  and  shaped  itself,  on  the  one 
hand,  into  the  literature  of  pure  song,  and  on  the  other  into 
a  less  special  poetic  literature,  of  which  Ramsay  and  Fer- 
gusson  are  the  chief  representatives.  These  two  lines  lead  us, 
the  one  to  Burns's  songs,  the  other  to  his  poems.  In  both 
respects  it  is  of  importance,  not  merely  in  its  connection  with 
Burns,  but  in  its  general  relation  to  the  history  of  English 
poetry.  For  both  in  song  and  in  poem  it  shows  that  the  so- 
called  "  return  to  nature  "  was  never  necessary  in  Scotland, 
because  Scotland  had  never  departed  from  nature.  When 
English  poetry  was  presenting  its  most  artificial  appearance, 
this  Scottish  muse  had  all  the  buxomness  of  country  life  and 
the  freshness  of  the  early  morn.     There  was  neither  stilted 

1  Prose  writers  like  Hume  and  Robertson  have  notiiing  to  distinguish 
them  from  their  English  brethren  beyond  an  occasional  Scotticism  in 
diction.  In  poetry  Thomson,  Blair,  Home,  Falconer,  Beattie,  and  Mac- 
pherson  rank  as  English  writers. 


XXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

artificiality  of  conception  nor  cold  artificiality  of  expression; 
both  thought  and  language  were  simple,  sensuous,  and,  if 
not  always  passionate,  always  rich  in  feeling.  This  was  the 
true  tradition  inherited  by  Burns.  It  was  this  which  fed  his 
genius  and  gave  him  power  as  the  first  great  "  natural  "  poet 
of  the  new  era.  But  the  literature  of  this  Scotch  revival  was 
a  different  product  from  the  earlier  literature  of  the  i4lh, 
15th,  and  1 6th  centuries.  It  was  different  in  national 
quality,  because  the  Scotland  which  it  represented  was  no 
longer  a  nation.  It  was  different  in  its  audience  and  appeal, 
because  those  to  whom  it  addressed  itself  either  were  more 
and  more  becoming  Anglicized  in  their  education,  speech, 
manners,  and  sentiment,  or  belonged  to  a  class  socially 
inferior,  who  had  little  education,  few  political  rights,  and 
small  public  interest.  It  was  different  also  in  its  language. 
The  vernacular  as  a  literary  vehicle  had  so  long  lain  in  des- 
uetude that  the  writers  who  now  sought  to  revive  its  use  for 
literary  purposes  applied  themselves,  not  to  the  diction  and 
vocabulary  of  the  old  masters,  but  to  the  living  speech  of 
the  common  people.  There  was  still  the  older  tradition,  be 
it  granted,  but  this  fresh  application  to  the  vernacular  in  its 
living  use  among  the  lower  and  country  classes  introduced 
into  literature,  for  the  first  time,  a  broader  element,  which 
we  do  not  find  in  Barbour,  but  which  had  existed  all  along 
as  part  of  the  living  vulgar  tongue. 

Both  phases  of  this  revival  are  represented  in  a  book 
which  appeared  at  the  beginning  of  the  century,  James 
Watson's  Choice  Collectioti  of  Comic  and  Serious  Scots  Poems 
(Edin.,  1 706-9-1 1).  Omitting  song  literature  for  the  pres- 
ent, we  find  the  most  considerable  name  in  the  collection  to 
be  William  Hamilton,  of  Gilbertfield  (died  1750),  a  writer 
associated  as  affectionately  in  his  own  life  as  he  is  in  the 
verse  of  Burns  with  Allan  Ramsay.  In  Watson's  collection 
was  that  poem  of  his,  The  Death  and  Dying  Words  of  Bonie 


INTRODUCTION.  xxv 

Heck,  a  Famous  Greyhound,  which  furnished  Burns  a  model 
for  the  Death  and  Dyitig  Words  of  Poor  Mailie,  a  Fet  Yowe. 
In  1 7  19  he  and  Ramsay  interchanged  a  poetical  correspond- 
ence that  again  served  as  example  and  model  for  Burns's 
Epistles;  and  in  1722  he  produced  that  abridgment  of 
Blind  Harry's  Wallace  which  passed  into  the  common  stall 
edition,  and  so  fired  Burns's  youthful  patriotism.  But  the 
two  poets  of  this  Scotch  revival  who  are  of  greatest  impor- 
tance, both  as  regards  their  own  work  and  in  their  influence 
on  Burns,  are  Ramsay  and  Fergusson. 

Allan  Ramsay  (1686-1758)  was  a  poor  Lanarkshire  boy 
who  received  his  entire  education  at  the  parish  school  of 
Crawfordmoor.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  was  apprenticed 
to  a  wigmaker  in  Edinburgh,  By-and-by  he  acquired  sub- 
stance, began  business  for  himself,  became  a  favorite  mem- 
ber of  the  Easy  Club,  developed  a  literary  vein,  wrote  and 
published  verses,  and  presently  passed  from  the  industry 
of  wigmaking  to  that  of  bookselling,  —  an  admirable  type 
of  the  long-headed,  "  canny  "  Scot,  a  man  born  to  thrive, 
eminently  mundane  and  full  of  glee,  with  an  overmastering 
relish  for  humor  of  the  broader  kind,  but  temperate  and 
shrewd,  with  a  strict  eye  to  business  and  with  no  disturbing 
passion  or  imagination.  He  picked  up  literature  at  the 
Easy  as  an  incidental  to  his  wigmaking  craft,  continued  it  as 
an  incidental  to  the  bookselling  business,  which  was  his 
mainstay,  and,  having  earned  both  fame  and  a  competency, 
dropped  it  altogether,  with  a  quarter  of  a  century  of  good  life 
still  before  him.  His  first  efforts  were  issued  in  the  form  of 
leaflets,  which  he  sold  for  a  few  pence  each.  For  some 
years  he  worked  the  neglected  vein  of  the  older  Scotch 
literature,  and  in  1724  the  fruit  of  his  researches  came  out 
.in  the  Evergreen.  This  was  a  "  collection  of  Scots  Poems 
wrote  by  the  ingenious  before  1600,"  taken  chiefly  from  the 
Bannatyne  MS.,^  and  including  many  poems  of  a  later  date 

1  See  p.  xxxii,  note. 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION. 

than  1600.  In  1724-27  he  brought  out  the  first  three  parts 
of  the  Tea-table  Miscellany,  a  mixed  collection  of  old  and 
new  songs,  both  English  and  Scotch,  and  by  authors  of 
both  nations.  In  1725  appeared  the  single  work  by  which 
he  is  now  universally  remembered,  the  pastoral  drama  of  The 
Gentle  Shepherd} 

The  scope  of  Ramsay's  influence  may  be  measured  by 
the  fact  that  the  Tea-table  Miscellany  ran  through  twelve 
editions  in  a  few  years.  The  Evergreen,  The  Gentle  Shepherd, 
and  other  works  of  his  were  only  less  popular.  At  home  he 
was  caressed  by  the  nobility,  and  his  shop  in  the  Lucken- 
booths,  with  its  conspicuous  heads  of  Drummond  and  Jonson, 
was  a  favorite  rendezvous  for  the  wits  of  the  capital.  Among 
the  people  at  large  he  was  the  acknowledged  prince  of  living 
poets.  His  fame  spread  beyond  Scotland,  and  editions  of 
his  works  were  printed  in  London  and  Dublin  in  1731  and 
1733.  He  had  an  extensive  correspondence  with  contem- 
porary men  of  letters,  and  critics  praised  his  Gentle  Shepherd 
as  the  best  pastoral  that  had  been  written  since  Theocritus. 
His  significance  in  relation  to  Burns  is  that  he  prepared  the 
way  for  his  greater  successor,  and  by  the  impetus  he  gave 
to  the  cultivation  of  vernacular  verse,  by  the  success  he 
achieved  in  reviving  and  popularizing  the  old  native  strains, 
by  the  education  he  gave  the  public  in  appreciating  a  literature 
strange  to  English  and  Anglicized  taste,  and  by  the  frank 
and  natural  quality  of  his  original  compositions  he  practically 
made  the  swift  and  triumphant  popularity  of  Burns  possible.^ 

1  In  17 16  he  edited  the  old  poem,  Chrisfs  Kirk  on  the  Green,  with 
an  additional  canto  added;  in  1718  he  republished  it  with  another 
original  canto.  After  The  Gentle  Shepherd  he  published  another  volume 
of  poems  in  1728,  and  in  1730  a  book  of  Fables.  Then,  with  remarkable 
wisdom  for  a  popular  poet,  he  ceased  to  write.  Edition  used:  Works, 
3  vols.,  Fullerton  &  Co.,  Edin.  and  Lond.,  1848. 

2  For  his  work  in  pure  song,  see  pp.  xxxvi-xxxvii. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXVll 

In  language,  too,  he  set  Burns  the  example  of  employing 
both  Scotch  and  English  in  his  poems,  using  the  former 
altogether  in  his  most  natural  and  spontaneous  efforts,  and 
reserving  the  latter  for  occasions  of  artificial  dignity  or 
serious  elevation  of  thought.  In  only  one  poem  of  conse- 
quence ^  does  he  attempt  a  higher  flight  on  the  humble 
pinions  of  the  vernacular.  His  English  poems  are  not  of 
high  merit,  and  he  wisely  preferred  the  field  where  his  talent 
lay.  But  in  doing  this  he  had  to  antagonize  the  literary 
fashion  of  the  day  and  brave  the  public  criticism  of  literary 
censors.  But  in  Ramsay's  case,  as  later  in  the  case  of 
Burns,  there  was  an  ulterior  advantage  accruing  to  his  use 
of  the  homely  dialect  which  he  heard  spoken  about  him  : 
both  in  this  way  remained  truer  to  nature,  and  they  antici- 
pated the  change  in  poetic  diction  commonly  associated  with 
the  name  of  Wordsworth.^ 

1  The  Vision,  printed  in  the  Evergreen,  with  a  misleading  title,  which 
deceived  Scott,  and  a  note  that  it  was  "  compylit  in  Latin  be  a  most 
lernit  clerk  in  time  of  our  hairship  and  oppression,  anno  1300,  and 
translatit  in  1524." 

2  A  humble  pupil  of  Ramsay,  whose  work  also  touches  that  of  Burns 
at  a  single  point,  is  Alexander  Ross  (i  699-1784),  a  poor  schoolmaster 
of  Forfarshire,  who  whiled  away  the  enmii  of  country  pedagogy  by 
writing  verses  that  brought  him  a  parochial  fame.  At  the  age  of  sixty- 
seven  he  went  to  Aberdeen,  taking  with  him  the  MS.  of  Helenore,  or  the 
Fortunate  Shepherdess,  and  there  met  Beattie  of  Minstrel  fame,  who 
praised  the  poem  and  introduced  it  and  its  author  to  public  notice.  The 
poem  opens  with  an  address  to  his  muse,  whose  name  Scota  furnished 
Burns  with  the  idea  of  Coila: 

Come,  Scota,  thou  that  ance  upon  a  day 

Garr'd  Allan  Ramsay's  hungry  heart-strings  play 

The  merriest  sangs  that  ever  yet  were  sung. 

Ross  likewise  composed  some  merry  songs  that  help  to  carry  on  the 
lyric  tradition  to  Burns  :  Woo' d  an'  Marritan'  a\  The  Rock  an'  the  Wee 
Pickle  Tow,  and  others. 


xxviu  INTRODUCTION. 

Robert  Fergusson  (1750-74),  in  a  limited  sense  the  heir 
of  Ramsay,  is  of  greater  consequence  as  the  immediate  fore- 
runner and  generously  acknowledged  master  of  Burns.  Son 
of  a  poor  Edinburgh  clerk,  born  frail  alike  in  body  and  in 
will,  but  with  a  quick,  warm  heart,  a  fine  spirit  of  mirth  and 
mockery,  Fergusson's  rare  abilities  soon  revealed  genius. 
He  was  fortunate  in  a  university  education,  but  by  his 
father's  death  and  his  mother's  poverty  he  was  immediately 
forced  to  undertake  the  dismal  drudgery  of  a  lawyer's  clerk. 
He  was  assailed  by  fate  within  him  and  fate  without, 
and  having  no  reserve  of  either  moral  or  physical  strength, 
lacking,  too,  a  friend  to  stand  by  him  in  his  hour  of  need, 
he  sought  to  forget  his  poor  home  and  his  aching  fingers  in 
the  glee  of  the  clubhouse,  dissipated  somewhat,  sank  into 
broken  health,  then  into  remorse  and  religious  melancholy, 
and  finally  passed  to  a  swift  and  distressing  end  in  a  public 
insane  asylum.  In  judging  his  work  it  is  well  to  remember 
that  he  was  barely  twenty-four  when  he  died,  and  that  his 
three  brief  years  of  productive  effort  were  much  broken  by  the 
waste  that  comes  of  conviviality.  From  1771  he  contributed 
numerous  poems  to  Riiddiman^s  Weekly  Magazine  or  Edin- 
burgh Amusement ;  in  1773  he  collected  and  published  these 
in  a  volume.  The  volume  contained  nine  Scotch  poems, 
including  The  Daft  Days,  Braid  Claith,  and  Halloiv  Fair ; 
the  rest  were  English.  In  his  later  compositions  he  culti- 
vated the  Scotch  vein  by  preference,  and  was  only  coming 
to  a  realization  of  his  powers  when  the  blight  fell  upon  him. 

Inheriting  the  Scotch  tradition  which  Ramsay  had  once 
more  popularized,  and  the  public  which  Ramsay  had  awak- 
ened, Fergusson  likewise  inherited  the  elder  poet's  "  spunk 
o'  glee,"  the  broad  fun  and  sly  satire  which  were  so  accept- 
able to  his  audience,  and  that  love  of  nature  which  brings 
a  waft  of  country  air  into  his  city  poems.  His  genius, 
singularly  void  of  passion,  and  immature  in  all    except   a 


INTRODUCTION.  xxix 

precocious  tone  of  reflective  wisdom,  is  that  of  the  townsman 
born  and  bred  who  loves  and  misses  the  country.  His  sub- 
jects are  drawn  mainly  from  city  and  suburban  life  ;  he 
paints  the  humors  of  Auld  Reekie  and  hits  off  her  characters 
with  deft  good  nature,  banters  the  lords  and  advocates  of 
the  Session,  satirically  moralizes  on  the  respectability  of  the 
citizen's  broadcloth,  preaches  to  his  fellow  clubmen,  with 
mock  gravity,  on  the  virtues  of  cold  water,  wakens  the 
ghosts  that  haunt  the  Canongate,  and  collogues  with  plain- 
stanes  and  causey  on  the  High  Street.  But  he  gladly  listens 
to  the  song  of  the  gowdspink,  his  eye  catches  the  butterfly 
in  the  thoroughfare,  and  he  passes  in  fancy  to  the  rustic 
joys  of  the  farmer's  ingle.  His  style  of  treatment  is  humor- 
ous, pathetic,  and' moralistic.  In  these  and  other  respects 
his  relation  to  Burns  is  so  close  that  it  would  almost  seem 
as  if  his  entire  equipment,  his  humor,  satire,  and  sagacity, 
his  sympathy  with  nature  and  his  warm  humanity,  his  vivid 
sight  of  his  object,  even  his  diction  and  versification,  had 
been  transplanted  into  the  richer  soil  of  Burns's  mind,  and 
flourished  there  anew. 

IV.     SCOTTISH    SONG   AND   MUSIC    BEFORE   BURNS. 

Scottish  Song  was  the  direct  outcome  of  Scottish  Music, 
and,  especially  in  the  work  of  Burns,  was  directly  inspired 
and  regulated  by  its  musical  source.  Mainly  Celtic  in  its 
origin,  but  developed  in  the  lowlands,  this  music  has  pe- 
culiarities that  give  it  a  distinct  place  in  musical  history. 
The  old  Celtic  scale,  in  which  the  most  ancient  melodies 
were  composed,  had  only  five  notes ;  it  was  our  modern 
diatonic  scale  minus  the  fourth  and  seventh.  A  familiar 
example  of  it  is  the  melody  of  Auld  Zang  Syne.  A  slight 
examination  will  show  how  readily  this  scale  lends  itself  to 
the   production   of  minor   strains   and   what   may  be   called 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

minor  effects  in  a  major  key  ;  and  this  is  one  reason  why  so 
many,  even  of  humorous,  Scotch  songs  have  a  touch  of  that 
pathos  which  is  akin  to  melancholy.  The  strain  is  not  one 
of  grief  or  sadness  ;  it  is  simply  the  spirit  of  the  hills,  where 
the  very  cries  of  the  birds  are  lonely,  bringing  down  to  the 
social  fields  of  the  "  laigh  country  "  the  solitariness  of  moun- 
tain life.  Of  a  part  with  this  general  effect  is  the  particular 
effect  of  the  frequently  incomplete  melodic  ending,  which 
leaves  the  listener  in  suspense  and  gives  a  touch  of  exquisite 
idealism  to  the  close.  One  of  the  best  examples  is  The 
Bruine  d'  the  Cowdenknowes} 

The  influence  of  church  music  very  early  filled  the  gaps 
in  this  scale,  and  one  of  the  early  popular  instruments  was 
the  pipe  or  recorder,  which  played  the  scale  of  C  major  with- 
out accidentals.  Even  this  offered  little  scope  for  modula- 
tion, and  the  ingenuity  and  melodic  skill  of  the  early  Scotch 
composers  are  well  shown  in  their  adaptation  of  the  older 
kind  of  melodies  to  the  new  scale,  and  the  production  of 
expressive  effects  corresponding  to  changes  of  key.  In  this 
respect  James  I  of  Scotland,  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
improvers  of  Scotch  music,  was  renowned  in  the  early  Italian 
schools  as  the  inventor  of  "  a  new  music,  mournful  and 
plaintive,  different  from  all  others."  ^  With  the  improvement 
of  the  violin  came  another  development  of  the  popular 
music.  The  pipe  was  still  a  favorite  instrument,  and,  as  we 
see  from  Satan's  performance  in  Tarn  d'  Shunter.,  was  equally 
fitted  for  the  rendering  of  the  liveliest  measures  ;  but  the 
violin  had  more  to  do  with  the  growth  and  spread  of  those 
folk  melodies  which  finally  gave  birth  to  the  songs  of  Burns. 

^  For  further  treatment  of  the  subject,  see  Grove's  Diet,  of  Music, 
art.  "  Scotch  Music." 

-  "  Una  nuova  musica,  lamentevole  e  mesta,  differente  da  tutte  le 
altre  "  :  Tassoni,  Pensieri  Diver  si,  ed.  by  A.  Barbarigo,  Venice,  1665, 
bk.  X,  ch.  xxiii,  p.  406.  For  further  references,  see  D.  Irving,  Hist,  of 
Scottish  Poetry,  p.  15S,  note. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXI 

The  fiddle  -^^.s par  excellence  the  instrument  that  stirred  the 
native  blood  ;  it  was  also  the  instrument  that  for  nearly  two 
hundred  years  fought  the  kirk  single  handed  and  came  out 
victorious,  and  it  was  the  only  instrument  Burns  used  in 
tuning  his  genius  to  the  melodies  he  enshrined  in  poetry. 

These  melodies  were  transmitted  from  place  to  place  and 
from  generation  to  generation  mainly  by  ear,  and  in  this 
way  they  grew.       The    plowman   in  the  field  or  the  maid 
among  the  cows   will  whistle   or  sing  a  half-caught  strain 
until  the  air  completes  itself.     But  the  air  will  be  apt  to 
take  some  little  turn  from  the  singer's  mood  or  temper,  and 
then  it  is  no  longer  the  same  ;  it  has  assumed  a  different 
color,  sentiment,  and  individuality ;  it  has  become  a  differ- 
ent song,  demanding  different  words.    Melodies,  too,  among 
a  musical  people,  are  readily  caught  when  words  are  lost, 
and  the  song,  carried  away  into  another  glen  or  haugh,  hums 
itself  in  the  popular  mind,  until  by-and-by  it  shapes  itself 
into  words  that  embody  its  changed  sentiment.     It  is  easy. 
for  instance,  to  detect  modifications  of  the  same  strain  in  the 
opening  measures  of  Och  Hey  Johnnie  Lad,  Corn  Rigs,  and 
Auld  Lang  Syne,  whose  finished  melodies  have  grown  widely 
apart.     A  better  illustration  is  Lady  Cassi/is'  Lilt.     In  this 
old  melody  we  can  see  the  source  of  the  plaintive  strains  of 
The  Bonie  Llouse  <?'  Airlie  and  y^  Wee  Bird  Cam  to  Our  LLa^ 
Door ;  a  different  modulation  of  the  same  air  gives  us  Lley 
2'utti  Taitie,  whose  tenderness  appears  in  The  Land  o'  the 
Leal ;  and  with  only  a  slight  change  of  accent  this  pathos 
is  transformed  into  the  martial  bravery  of  Scots  Wha  LLae. 
But,  though  the  ancient  melodies  were  thus  changed  at  the 
hands  of  an   unskilled   people,  their  original   construction 
indicates  that  they  were  the  work  of  artists  in  melodic  com- 
position.    And  no  doubt  the  fact  that  they  suffered  modifi- 
cation from  the  country  people  who  sang  them  is  partly  the 
reason  why  they  are  so  rich  in  feeling.    They  have  gathered 


xxxil  INTRODUCTION. 

to  themselves  the  unspoken  humor  and  pathos  of  we  know 
not  how  many  lives,  and  as  we  listen  to  them  we  seem  to 
hear  the  voices  of  generations  of  dead  singers  come  trem- 
bling to  us  across  the  centuries  with  a  laugh  or  a  sob. 

From  very  early  times  there  was  a  national  heritage  of 
words  to  these  national  melodies.  We  have  little  evidence 
of  their  character  beyond  what  is  furnished  in  a  few  titles 
mentioned  in  stray  places,  like  The  Tale  of  Cockelbie's  Sow} 
But  the  number  referred  to  even  as  early  as  the  isth 
century  indicates  a  considerable  body  of  floating  folk  songs 
that  grew  up  and  scattered  themselves  as  the  ballads  did 
without  any  recognized  authorship.-  The  i6th  century 
produced  a  curious  book,  Afie  Compendious  Bulk  of  Godlie 
Psalms  and  Spiritual  Sangs  (1570),  in  which  the  Reformers, 
feeling  themselves  powerless  against  the  art  of  folk-music, 
sought  to  catch  the  populace  by  singing  "  psalms  to  horn- 
pipes." Like  the  Salvation  Army  of  the  present  day,  they 
took  over  the  popular  songs,  titles  and  all,  and  only  altered 
the  words  so  far  as  to  make  them  suit  the  religious  purpose 
for  which  they  were  designed.  These  religious  travesties 
serve  the  double  purpose  of  preserving  the  titles  and  first 
lines  of  many  of  the  most  popular  ditties  of  the  day,  and  of 
indicating  the  desperate  shifts  to  which  the  kirk  was  driven 
to  circumvent  the  devil  and  counteract  the  Satanic  influence 
of  popular  song.  But  anything  like  mirth,  even  under  a 
religious  guise,  was  alien  to  the  spirit  of  the  old  Scotch 
Presbyterians;  and  especially  during  the  17th  century,  in 
addition  to  the  long  and  bloody  struggle  with  Episcopacy,  the 
gloom  of  the  Covenant  hung  heavy  over  bonnie  Scotland.^ 

Yet  even  during  that  austere  and  bitter  time,  when  men 

1  Printed  in  Laing's  Select  Remains  of  the  Ancient  Popular  Poetry  op 
Scotland.     4°.     Edin.,  1822. 

2  See  Introd.  to  Songs  op  Scotland.     Lond.,  1871. 

3  The  Complaynte  op  Scotland  (1549)  gives  the  names  of  thirty-seven 
songs  which  the  shepherds  sing  to  the  author  in  his  dream.    About  I555 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxin 

were  shedding  their  blood  for  a  creed  that  choked  all 
earthly  inspiration  and  a  church  that  stifled  the  mirth  of 
children,  the  natural  genius  of  the  people  found  relief  in 
country  songs  that  form  a  respectable  prelude  to  the  "  melo- 
dious bursts  "  that  fill  the  i8th  century.  The  first  work  of 
the  century,  indeed,  was  the  collection  and  publication  of 
these,'  many  of  which  formed  the  crude  material  of  the  later 
efforts  of  Ramsay  and  Burns.  As  nearly  all  of  them  were, 
owing  to  kirk  influence  over  the  press,  transmitted  by  oral 
tradition  or  in  unaccredited  broadsheets,  very  few  names  of 
authors  have  been  preserved.  We  have,  among  others,  Sir 
Robert  Aytoun,  who  may  have  written  one  version  of  Auld 
Lang  Syne ;  Lady  Grizel  Baillie,  whose  ballad  Were  na  my 
Heart  Licht  I  Wad  Die  so  pathetically  appealed  to  Burns  in 
his  dark  days  at  Dumfries  ;  and  the  Semples  of  Beltrees,  of 
whom  Francis  is  credited  with  the  authorship  of  Maggie 
Lauder,  Fy  Let  us  a'  to  the  Bridal,  and  others.  These  are 
names  socially  and  politically  conspicuous,  but  the  major 
part  of  the  17th  century  songs  are  anonymous,  —  a  fact 
which  Burns  lamented  when  he  came  to  work  this  field.  A 
few  songs  like  Muirland  Willie,  Tak  your  Auld  Cloak  about 
ye'^  Waly,  Waly  up  the  Bank,  and  the  Scotch  Barbara  Allan 

Sir  Richard  Maitland  compiled  a  collection  of  Scotch  poetry,  from  which 
Pinkerton,  the  antiquary,  in  1786  published  an  excerpt.  In  1568  George 
Bannatyne,  fleeing  from  the  plague,  retired  to  a  country  house  and 
wrote  out  in  MS.  the  most  valuable  collection  of  old  Scottish  poetry 
which  we  possess  ;  this  was  the  collection  from  which  Ramsay  drew 
material  for  the  Evergreen.  In  1579,  by  order  of  the  Legislature,  min- 
strels were  classed  as  vagabonds. 

1  The  chief  MS.  collections  of  the  17th  century  are  the  Skene  collec- 
tion, airs  with  titles  of  words  sung  (1630-40),  and  the  Straloch  MS. 
(1627-29).  The  Aberdeen  Cantus,  a  collection  of  about  fifty  songs  with 
music,  of  which,  however,  only  half  a  dozen  were  Scotch,  was  published 
at  Aberdeen  in  1666. 

2  Shakspere's  Othello,  Act  ii,  sc.  3,  shows  that  a  version  of  this 
song  was  known  in  England  as  early  as  161 1. 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

carried  on  the  ballad  type  imitated  by  Burns  in  Tam  Glen 
and  Last  May  a  Braiv  Wooer.  Many  furnished  Burns  both 
a  subject  and  a  model;  e.g..,  Gala  Water,  Wanderin  Willie, 
Auld  Rob  Morris,  My  Jo,  Ja7iet,  O  Gin  my  Love  Were  Yon 
Red  Rose.  Others,  like  Katherifie  Ogie,  Saw  ye  Johnie  Comin, 
Will  ye  Go  to  the  Yowe  Buchts  Marion,  merely  handed  down 
old  melodies  which  Burns  worked  to  better  effect.  A  few, 
like  Annie  Laiwie  and  Leader  Haughs  an'  Yarrow,  passed 
into  other  hands,  and  a  large  number  were  left  untouched, 
or  served  only  as  fertilizers  of  the  lyric  soil,  and  gradually 
disappeared.  The  song  writers  of  the  17th  century  seem  to 
have  been  loath  to  acknowledge  and  care  for  their  literary 
offspring,  perhaps  from  the  stigma  of  vagabondage  that  was 
laid  upon  the  minstrels,  perhaps  for  the  reason  that  may  be 
guessed  from  the  opening  lines  of  the  Silly  Auld  Man,  a 
song  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II : 

I  am  a  puir  silly  auld  man 

An'  hirplin  ower  a  tree, 
Yet  fain  fain  kiss  wad  I 

Gin  the  kirk  wad  let  me  be. 

The  kirk  had  good  excuse  for  seeking  to  regulate  the  popu- 
lar Scottish  muse  of  this  time.  Whether  from  innate  wick- 
edness or  from  a  natural  defiance  of  presbyterial  severity, 
the  muse  walked  abroad  in  a  shockingly  high-kilted  fashion, 
and  kicked  up  her  heels  in  a  way  that  seems  deliberately 
intended  to  flout"  the  "  unco  guid."  Many  songs  were 
written  which  appear  to  have  had  nothing  but  licentiousness 
for  their  motive,  while  others  had  nothing  to  recommend 
them  but  low  buffoonery.  This  prevalent  coarseness  and 
vulgarity  of  the  earlier  song  literature,  modified  though  it 
was  by  the  inexpert  hand  of  Ramsay,  should  be  remembered 
when  we  come  to  think  of  Burns's  work,  not  merely  in  its 
conversion  of  brick  into  marble,  but  in  the  strictly  ethical 
respect   of  purification.      Burns   knew  this  song  literature 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXV 

thoroughly,  and  it  is  a  marvel  that  his  hand,  steeped  as  it 
was  in  this  compound,  should  have  been  so  little,  like  the 
dyer's,  subdued  to  what  it  worked  in. 

During  the  i8th  century  fresh  impulse  was  given  to  the 
cultivation  of  Scottish  song  by  the  Jacobite  enthusiasm,  by 
the  work  of  Allan  Ramsay,  and  by  the  fashionable  taste  for 
Scotch  music. 

The  Jacobite  minstrelsy  continued  the  tradition  of  the 
English  cavaliers.  The  Whig  Revolution  and  the  final 
exclusion  of  the  Stuarts  from  the  throne  provoked  in  Scot- 
land the  liveliest  indignation  and  derision,  and  flooded  the 
country  with  a  tide  of  popular  song  in  which  the  sense  of 
injury  blends  bitterly  with  devotion  to  the  "richtfu'  king." 
The  songs  are  for  the  most  part  anonymous,  orphaned  waifs 
of  the  passionate  semi-Celtic  Scottish  heart,  and,  though  not 
as  a  rule  marked  by  fine  poetic  genius,  are  brimful  of  life. 
They  sound  every  note  of  tenderness,  fidelity,  hope,  courage, 
pride,  defiance,  and  scorn,  and  their  high-hearted  victorious 
loyalty,  which  not  even  CuUoden  could  subdue,  is  poignant 
with  satirical  humor.  They  group  themselves  into  three 
classes  round  the  three  struggles  of  1689,  1715,  and  1745. 
The  second  group  contains  two  notable  songs,  the  fine  burst 
of  indignant  loyalty  known  as  Lady  Keith's  Lame?it,  and  that 
masterpiece  of  patriotic  rough-handling,  A  Wee  Wee  Gemian 
Lairdie,  of  which  the  very  title  is  a  vesicating  blister.  The 
country  was  far  more  deeply  stirred  by  the  rising  of  the  '45 
and  the  romance  of  "bonnie  Prince  Charlie."  Though  it 
was  chiefly  the  clans  who  acted  in  the  fray,  the  cannie  low- 
landers  joined  in  the  triumph  while  it  lasted  and  made  the 
land  ring  with  songs  in  honor  of  the  "  young  Chevalier."  ^ 
They  greeted  him  with  O  hut  Ye  'z'e  Been  Lang  0'  Comin,  and 
Welcome  Royal  Charlie;  mocked  the  Englishmen  in  Hey 
Johnie  Cope  and  Up  aii"  Rin  Azva  Haivley ;  donned  the  white 
^  See  Hogg's  Jacol'ih'  Minstrelsy. 


xxxvi  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

cockade  and  sang  Charlie  He  V  my  Darling  and  a  hundred 
more  ;  and,  when  all  was  lost,  they  comforted  their  "  bonie 
hielant  laddie  "  by  sending  the  butcher  Cumberland  to  hell  and 
describing  Satan  "  in  a  neuk  rivin  sticks  to  roast  the  duke." 
Ramsay's  song  work  is  of  two  kinds,  original  and  editorial, 
and  most  of  it  appeared  in  the  Tea-table  Miscellany  (see  p. 
xxvi).  His  original  songs,  including  those  in  The  Gentle 
Shepherd,  are  never  striking  for  their  intrinsic  merit ;  the 
only  ones  that  have  held  their  place  are  Lochaber  fio  More, 
The  Lass  d"  Pane's  Mill,  and  The  Yellow-haired  Laddie,  and 
these  chiefly  on  account  of  the  fine  melodies  to  which  they 
are  set.  Ramsay  is  kindly  and  droll,  but  neither  his  joy  nor 
his  sorrow  is  rapturous  or  deep ;  he  has  none  of  the  passion 
requisite  in  a  lyrist.  Even  love  with  him  has  a  good  deal  of 
the  proverbial  Scot's  "  canny  lang-headedness."  It  has  none 
of  the  fine  idealism  and  passionate  abandon  of  that  portrayed 
by  Burns.'  Yet  Ramsay  was  greatly  inspired  by  Scottish 
music.  He  wrote  many  of  his  songs  to  the  traditional  mel- 
odies, and  gave  the  names  of  the  old  airs  to  which  his  new 
words  were  to  be  sung.^  His  less  original,  but  more  fruitful 
work  consisted  in  collecting  old  songs  and  presenting  these 
in  a  dress  suited  to  his  time.  While,  however,  he  preserved 
many  of  the  songs  and  airs  that  afterwards  inspired  Burns, 
he  took  great  liberty  with  his  material.  We  cannot  know 
the  extent  to  which  he  carried  his  retouchings  and  rehabili- 
tations. He  gives  about  twenty  songs  that  are  presumably 
old,  and  of  the  hundred  or  so  that  claim  to  be  original  many 

1  A  typical  example  is  his  treatment  of  the  pathetic  story  of  Bessie 
Bell  and  Mary  Gray,  two  maidens  of  Perth,  who  withdrew  from  the 
plague  and  "  biggit  a  bower  an'  theikit  it  ower  wi'  rashes,"  and  died  and 
were  buried  there.  Ramsay  gave  the  legend  a  comic  turn  by  making 
both  the  sweethearts  of  one  man  who  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
which  to  choose.  Compare  also  his  Aiild  Lang  Syne  and  Corn  Rigs 
with  those  of  Burns. 

-  In  1726  he  published  a  volume  of  these  airs. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXVU 

are  based  on  songs  of  which  he  preserved  at  least  the 
motive.  A  good  example  of  the  latter  class  is  The  Last  Time 
I  Cam  ower  the  Muir,  in  which  he  preserves  only  the  first  line 
of  an  old  song  and  composes  the  rest  to  suit  that  line,  —  a 
plan  both  commended  and  followed  by  Burns.  When  we 
consider  the  license  assumed  by  the  old  Scottish  muse,  we 
need  not  violently  regret  the  curb  Ramsay  put  upon  her 
tongue.  It  is  improbable  that  he  suppressed  anything  of 
real  value,  and  as  it  was  he  left  scope  enough.  What  he 
certainly  accomplished  in  the  four  volumes  of  his  Miscellany 
was  to  preserve  even  in  lines  and  titles  much  that  would 
otherwise  have  been  lost,  to  foster  the  love  of  song  through- 
out the  country,  and  not  only  to  prepare  the  way,  but  to 
leave  a  rich  body  of  inspiration  for  his  greater  successor.' 
From  the  time  of  Ramsay  to  Burns  the  vernacular  continued 
to  be  cultivated  by  a  multitude  of  writers,  the  extent  of 
whose  work  can  be  estimated  only  by  referring  to  the  liter- 
ature of  the  subject.  The  song  writers"  came  from  all  classes, 
—  every  grade  of  the  nobility  and  gentry,  the  learned  pro- 
fessions (including  even  stray  clergymen),  the  crafts  and 
industries,  and  even  the  vagabond  classes.  Likewise,  a  great 
body  of  anonymous  song  literature  was  spread  abroad,  some 
idea  of  which  may  be  gathered  from  Herd's  collections  of 
1770  and  1776. 

*  Ramsay  tells  us  that  about  thirty  songs  of  the  Ulisccllany  were  by 
friends  of  his, —  Robert  Crawford,  Hamilton  of  Bangour,  Hamilton  of 
Gilbertfield  (see  p.  xxiv),  and  others.  Most  of  these  wrote  in  English  or 
Anglicized  Scotch.  Crawford's  Scotch  is  thin,  but  his  Bush  Aboon 
Traqiihair  became  a  popular  favorite,  and  his  Doiin  the  Btwn  Davie  w'as 
reworked  by  Burns. 

2  Conspicuous  among  them  are  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  Sir  Henry 
Erskine,  Lady  Ann  Barnard,  Mrs.  Cockburn,  Miss  Jane  Elliott,  Rev. 
John  Skinner,  Dr.  Blacklock,  Pinkerton  the  antiquary,  the  poets  Mallet, 
Ross,  Home,  and  others,  Dugald  Graham  the  town  crier  of  Glasgow, 
Tibbie  Pagan  the  shebeener,  and  Jean  Glover  the  vagabond. 


xxxvni  INTRODUCTION. 

Finally,  song  production  was  immensely  stimulated  by  the 
passion  for  the  Scottish  folk  melodies  that  swept  over  both 
Scotland  and  England  in  the  i8th  century.  Since  the  mid- 
dle of  the  17th  century  Scottish  airs  had  become  so  popular 
in  England  that  London  literary  hacks  made  it  a  business 
to  manufacture  imitations,  spurious  in  both  words  and  music. 
One  of  the  leading  spirits  in  this  enterprise  was  D'Urfey,  the 
playwright  (a  favorite  of  the  merry  monarch),  who  in  his  later 
life  published  a  collection  in  six  volumes.^  In  Scotland  the 
national  melodies  began  to  be  published,  both  with  and 
without  words,  from  the  beginning  of  the  century.  The 
earliest  collection  which  contained  words  was  Wm.  Thom- 
son's Orpheus  Caledonius  (1725-33).  Then  followed  a  steady 
run  of  similar  works  ^  down  to  the  publication  of  Johnson's 
Musical  Museum,  the  first  volume  of  which  appeared  in 
1787,  and  Thomson's  more  aristocratic  collection,  to  both 
of  which  Burns  contributed  his  best  work  in  Scottish  song. 

V.     BURNS'S  WORK  IN  ITS  RELATION  TO   THE  PAST. 

(a)  His  Poems. 

The  sources  and  models  that  most  influenced  Burns  were 
those  of  his  own  country  and  his  own  century.     The  earlier 

1  Wit  and  Mirth,  or  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy  (London,  1719-20: 
reprinted  in  facsimile  1872).  In  1651  there  had  also  appeared  in  Lon- 
don John  Playford's  Dancing  Master,  which,  along  with  a  few  genuine 
Scottish  airs,  contained  some  very  clever  imitations  that  were  adopted 
north  of  the  Tweed,  and  had  good  sets  of  words  written  to  them;  e.g.. 

The  Deil  Cam  Fiddlin  thro'  the  Totttt  and  The  Deuk  'j  Dang  o'er  My 
Daddie  (both  by  Burns).  In  1700  Henry  Playford  published  A  Collec- 
tion of  Original  Scottish  Tunes  {Fzill  of  the  Highland  Htwiors^  for  the 

Violin  :  being  the  first  of  this  kittd  yet  printed.  The  first  edition  of  Pills 
to  Purge  Melaticholy,  edited  by  H.  Playford,  had  been  published  in  1699. 

2  Note  especially  James  Oswald's  collections  (1740-42),  which  were 
used  by  Burns. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxix 

Scottish  literature  affected  him  scarcely  at  all,  except  as  it 
embodied  and  transmitted  the  national  sentiment,  language, 
and  tradition.  His  patriotic  enthusiasm  took  him  back  to 
the  times  of  Wallace  and  Bruce  ;  but  he  had  not  read 
Barbour's  Bruce,  though  the  spirit  that  produced  it  he  dis- 
tilled into  Scots  Willi  Hae,  and  his  acquaintance  with  Henry 
the  Minstrel's  Wallace  was  made  through  the  modernized  and 
weakened  version  of  Hamilton  of  Gilbertfield.  Of  the  poets 
and  prose  writers  of  the  15th  and  i6th  centuries  he  knew 
nothing,  though  here  again  he  presents  strong  affinities  with 
Dunbar  ;  nor  did  the  extensive  ballad  literature  have  any 
appreciable  influence  on  the  development  of  his  genius. 
This  limitation  applies  equally  to  English  literature.  Beyond 
a  fair  knowledge  of  Shakspere  and  Milton  he  drew  all  that 
influenced  his  work  from  the  century  in  which  he  lived. 

In  English  literature  of  the  i8th  century,  however,  he  was 
well  read,  and  it  affected  him  in  a  far  deeper  degree  than  is 
generally  allowed.  The  books  he  read  may  have  been  few, 
but  they  were  select,  and  his  assimilative  power  multiplied 
tenfold  the  significance  of  those  he  did  read.  Even  from 
his  schoolbook  he  imbibed  a  literary  love  for  Addison,  and 
before  he  appeared  as  an  author  his  reading  embraced 
(besides  Scotch  literature)  a  set  of  Queen  Anne  letters,  on 
which  he  painfully  modeled  his  epistolary  style  ;  the  poetry 
of  Pope,  Thomson,  Shenstone,  Beattie,  Collins,  Gray,  Gold- 
smith, Macpherson,  and  Churchill  ;  the  prose  of  Addison, 
Steele,  and  Johnson  ;  some  of  the  novels  of  Richardson, 
Sterne,  Smollett,  and  Mackenzie  ;  the  Mirror  and  Lounger 
of  his  own  day  ;  and  some  technical  works  on  Agriculture, 
Mental  Philosophy,  Scripture  History,  and  Original  Sin. 
To  these  add  the  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  Bible  that 
used  to  be  required  of  every  respectable  Scottish  youth  and 
an  enthusiastic  study  of  a  collection  of  songs  on  which  he 
carefully  whetted  his  critical  perceptions  as  well  as  tuned 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

his  imagination.  The  sum  total,  when  we  consider  the  fact 
that  he  "drew  blood  from  everything  he  read,"  gives  a  lit- 
erary education  which  renders  it  a  mere  affectation  to  speak 
of  his  "  untutored  muse." 

In  estimating  its  influence  on  his  mind  and  work  we  must 
keep  before  us  the  character  of  i8th  century  literature,  —  its 
classicism  and  its  sentimentality.  In  its  earlier  age  it  was 
a  dry  and  intellectual  literature,  given  to  the  study  of  cor- 
rectness and  permitting  no  exuberance  of  either  thought  or 
diction,  affecting  "  wit,"  or  intellectual  sparkle,  but  possess- 
ing little  sense  of  the  humor  that  is  kin  to  pathos  ;  having  a 
lively  fancy,  as  illustrated  in  The  Rape  of  the  Lock,  but  little 
of  that  penetrative  power  which  unites  fancy  to  the  pro- 
foundest  emotions  of  the  heart ;  an  aristocratic  product,  a 
literature  of  fashionable  city  life  and  the  life  of  the  provin- 
cial gentry,  in  which  the  poor  had  no  figure,  and  mere  rustic 
simplicity  was  held  to  be  "low."  Supervening  on  this  in 
the  second  age  of  the  *  century  was  a  veneer  of  sentiment, 
which  was  its  nearest  approach  to  genuine  feeling  ;  it  was 
as  if  the  appeal  to  reason  and  intellect  had  been  overdone, 
and  emotion,  so  long  held  in  check,  sought  relief  in  "  tears 
of  sensibility."  This  affected  and  sometimes  whimpering 
sentimentality  explains  \}!\&fi0'ore  created  by  Sterne  and  the 
extravagant  reputation  of  Mackenzie. 

Apart  from  the  special  mention  Burns  gives  to  many  of 
the  i8th  century  writers,^ stray  echoes  of  these  maybe  heard 
from  time  to  time  in  his  verse,  as  when  he  adapts  a  stanza 
of  Gray's,^  a  line  of  Pope's,^  a  couplet  of  Goldsmith's,*  or  a 
thought  of  Young's^;  and  in  a  general  way  the  artificial  char- 

1  E.g.,  in  the  Ep.  to  Lapraik,  to  McMath,  The  Vision,  etc. 

2  C.  S.  N.,  14-17. 

3  C.  S.  N.,  129,  157. 
*  C.  S.  N.,  1 56. 

^  To  a  M.D.,  51. 


INTRODUCTION.  xli 

acter  of  the  century  may  be  traced  in  an  occasional  note  of 
mere  rhetoric/  or  again  in  the  stilted  gait  of  his  English 
heroics.  The  artificiality  and  classicism  of  the  school  of 
Pope  do  not,  however,  affect  him  so  much  as  the  sentimen- 
tality of  the  succeeding  age,  which  appealed  strongly  to  his 
sensitive  and  undisciplined  nature.  He  was  especially  fond 
of  Sterne's  Sentimental  Journey,  and  he  absurdly  overrated 
Mackenzie's  Man  of  Feeling.  In  The  Vision  he  regrets  that 
he  is  not  master  of  the  "  bosom-melting  throe  of  Shen- 
stone's  art  "  and  cannot  "pour  the  moving  flow  "  of  Gray, 
whereas,  in  fact,  the  emotions  excited  by  these  masters  were 
only  titillations,  compared  with  which  his  own  were  earth- 
quakes. He  brought  into  this  fashionable  age  the  stormy 
sincerity  and  passions  of  a  new  era,  and  he  never  approached 
nearer  to  insincerity  than  when  he  adopted  the  affectations 
of  the  literary  beau  monde  he  had  come  to  supersede. 

Of  a  part  with  this  i8th  century  influence  are  his  frequent 
excursions  into  the  English  tongue.  Both  Ramsay  and  Fer- 
gusson  served  as  examples  for  an  intermixture  of  English 
with  Scotch.  But  the  wide  range  of  his  own  culture  and 
preparation  also  inclined  him  towards  the  use  of  English  ;  the 
undivided  authority  of  literary  criticism  pointed  in  the  same 
direction ;  and  he  himself  seemed  to  feel  that  the  fashion- 
able English  writers  were  somehow  a  degree  above  him  and 
his  homely  dialect.  English  had  for  him  something  of 
decorum  and  dignity  that  did  not  sit  easily  on  the  rustic 
Scotch.  Hence,  when  he  wrote  English,  it  was  with  a  view 
to  assuming  a  certain  elevation  of  tone  and  dignity  of  man- 
ner. In  I'he  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  he  is  both  serious  and 
dignified,  but  it  is  still  a  familiar  dignity,  and  the  Scotch  ele- 

1  E.g.,  "  doitit  I-ear,"  "  Labour  sair,"  "  droopin  Care,"  and  "  dark 
Despair,"  all  in  a  single  stanza  of  Scotch  Drink.  Cf.  the  introduction 
of  abstractions  like  Hospitality,  Benevolence,  Learning,  and  Worth  at 
the  close  of  77^  Brigs  of  Ayr. 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

ment  is  not  on  the  whole  prominent.  In  The  Vision  he 
naturally  assumes  the  English  tone  when  the  sentiment  be- 
comes elevated.  In  such  lyrics  as  Afton  Water  and  To  Mary 
in  Heaven  he  shows  mastery  even  of  pure  English  ;  but  on 
the  whole  English  was  to  him  a  book  language,  and  his 
English  work  is  of  comparatively  little  account  beside  his 
Scotch.  Whenever  he  writes  completely  at  his  ease,  he 
uses  the  language  that  comes  nearest  his  heart ;  and  when 
he  draws  very  close  to  his  subject  with  familiar  affection,^  or 
when  he  introduces  humor  or  mockery,^  the  Scotch  is  richest 
and  strongest. 

As  a  counteractive  to  this  artificial  and  cramping  influence 
may  be  set  the  partial  acquaintance  he  had  with  Shakspere 
and  Milton  and  his  reading  of  Macpherson's  Ossian ;  but 
his  chief  source  of  "natural "  inspiration  was  the  Scottish 
literature  of  his  own  century.  Previous  sections  have  shown 
how  the  ground  was  prepared  for  him  in  this  respect,  and  he 
repeatedly  mentions,  with  the  most  generous  regard,  his 
accepted  Scottish  masters.^  But  his  relation  to  them  is  not 
merely  that  of  a  later  poet's  regard  for  more  or  less  eminent 
forerunners  in  the  same  line.  He  takes  their  poems  when- 
ever it  suits  his  purpose,  appropriates  their  subjects,  their 
motive  ideas,  their  forms  of  verse,  their  inventive  detail,  and 
even  their  diction.  In  actual  borrowing  and  imitation  his 
derived  work  exceeds  that  of  any  other  great  English  author 
except  Shakspere.  Of  his  poems  hardly  any  except  his 
two  masterpieces.  The  Jolly  Beggars  and  Tam  <?'  Sha7iter,  is 
original  in  the  sense  that  the  first  idea  and  form  of  it  sprung 
from  his  own  brain  ;  and  even  the  latter  of  these  is  not 
strictly  entitled  to  claim  this  originality.     His  Epistles  are 

1  Cf.  Ott  Scariiig  Water-fowl  with  the  openings  of  A  Winter-  Night 
and  The  Brigs  of  Ayr. 

2  Cf .  My  Nanie,  O  with  O  Tibbie,  I  Hae  Seen  the  Day, 

3  See  Ep.  W.S.,\\,  and  Ep.  L.  (I). 


I 


INTRODUCTION.  xliii 

nearly  all  modeled  on  the  rhyming  correspondence  of  Ram- 
say and  Hamilton  of  Gilbertfield.  Puir  Mailie  borrows 
from  the  same  Hamilton's  Bonie  Heck,  and  Mailie's  Elegy 
from  Skinner's  Eivie  wi'  the  Crookit  Horn.  Halloween  is 
based  on  a  poem  of  the  same  name  by  John  Mayne  ;  Man 
was  Made  to  Mourn  on  an  old  Scottish  elegy,  The  Life  and 
Age  of  Man;  Tain  Safnsofi's  Elegy  on  Robert  Sempill's  Z><?aM 
of  Habbie  Simson.  From  Fergusson,  whom  he  most  auda- 
ciously utilizes,  he  draws  both  the  idea  and  the  form  of  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  The  Holy  Fair,  Scotch  Drink,  The 
Brigs  of  Ayr,  A  Winter  Night,  and  indirectly  much  more  than 
these  (see  Notes).  He  did  not,  indeed,  require  to  learn  of 
Fergusson  his  "boast  of  independence,"  nor  his  "livid 
hatred  of  hypocrisy  ";  but  his  study  of  Fergusson  fed  his 
temper  in  both  of  these  directions,  and  showed  him  how 
they  could  be  turned  to  poetic  account.  From  him,  too,  he 
may  be  said  to  have  first  learned  to  apply  his  splendid  com- 
mon sense,  and  to  blend  with  it  his  inevitable  humor  ;  from 
him,  perhaps,  his  first  lessons  in  seeing  the  human  aspects 
of  inanimate  nature  and  the  brute  creation ;  and  from  him 
certainly  the  deft  art  with  which  he  makes  his  favorite  stanza 
ring  like  the  crack  of  a  whip.  When,  at  twenty-three,  he 
gave  up  poetry  altogether  for  a  time,  it  was  "  meeting  with 
Fergusson's  poems  "  that  made  him  "  string  anew  his  wildly 
sounding  lyre  with  emulating  vigor."  Apart  from  individual 
cases  of  imitation  and  borrowing,  a  general  comparison  will 
show  how  thoroughly  he  saturated  his  mind  with  the  work 
of  his  more  precocious  master,  and  it  will  show  further  how 
little  his  originality  suffers  from  a  frank  acknowledgment  of 
his  debt.  These  points,  however,  affect  only  the  poems  of 
Burns ;  in  his  songs  he  has  a  hemisphere  of  poetic  dominion 
never  visited  by  Fergusson  at  all.^ 

His  debt  to  Ramsay  is  only  less  great,  though  far  less 
1  See  notes  on  C.  S.  N.,  II.  F.,  B.  A.,  Sc.  Dr.,  W.  N. 


xliv  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

conspicuous.  Ramsay  was  first  in  the  field,  and  much  of 
what  Ramsay  transmitted  to  Burns  he  transmitted  by  way 
of  Fergusson,  But  Burns  studied  Ramsay  long  before  he 
received  from  Fergusson  his  second  quickening,  and  he 
continued  to  be  a  student  of  Ramsay  long  after  he  had  laid 
Fergusson  aside  ;  Ramsay's  indirect  influence  is  visible  as 
early  as  Poor  Maine's  Elegy,  and  it  is  well  marked  as  late 
as  Tatti  o'  Skanter.  This  influence  frequently  shows  itself 
in  isolated  lines  that  are  borrowed  entire  or  adapted  ;  else- 
where in  verse  forms,  especially  in  the  difficult  measures  of 
the  Episth  to  Davie  and  A  Dream;  or  again  in  bits  of 
invention  that  are  adopted  and  reworked,  as  in  the  use  he 
makes  of  Ramsay's  specter  and  attendant  sprites  in  The 
Vision.  Less  specially  it  shows  itself  in  the  tone  and  gen- 
eral character  of  his  familiar  epistles,  many  of  which  are  as 
carefully  modeled  on  those  of  Ramsay  as  his  descriptive 
sketches  are  on  Fergusson.  It  appears  most  of  all  in  a 
licentiousness  that  makes  a  deal  of  his  powerful  work  unfit 
to  be  quoted.  Allan  Ramsay  showed  an  astute  insight  into 
human  nature,  as  well  as  a  keen  eye  for  the  sale  of  his 
books,  when  under  their  innocent  titles  he  smuggled  the 
spirit  of  the  English  Restoration  into  a  country  that  had 
long  been  surfeited  with  formal  sanctity.  In  this  respect  he 
found  in  Burns  a  pupil  only  too  apt,  and  Ramsay's  influence 
more  than  any  other  single  cause  accounts  for  certain 
features  of  The  Jolly  Beggars,  Holy  Willie's  Prayer,  The 
Ordination,  and  many  of  Burns's  minor  pieces. 

(b)  His  Songs. 

In  his  songs  the  roots  of  his  genius  are  even  more  deeply 
imbedded  in  the  past.  Jacobitism  (see  p.  xxxv),  which 
survived  as  a  romantic  inspiration  far  into  the  present  cen- 
tury, was  in  the  time  of  Burns  still  bound  up  with  living 


INTRODUCTION.  xlv 

recollections.  In  his  case  it  not  merely  furnished  material 
for  poetic  practice,  but  was  part  and  parcel  of  his  real  sen- 
timent. In  an  age  and  country  that  had  not  yet  become 
democratic  enough  to  look  elsewhere  than  to  a  royal  family 
for  its  fountain  head  of  patriotism,  the  poet  turned  with 
contempt  from  the  unpoetical  house,  of  Hanover  to  the  royal 
Stuarts,  all  of  whom  had  befriended  poetry,  many  of  whom 
had  themselves  been  poets,  and  whose  lives  had  from  the 
first  been  marked  with  tragic  and  romantic  destiny.  "  Ex- 
cept when  my  passions  are  heated,"  he  says,  "my  Jacobitism 
is  merely  by  way  of  vive  la  bagatelle  "  ;  but  in  both  prose 
and  verse  he  has  left  ample  record  of  this  sentiment.  His 
tour  in  the  highlands  warmed  this  sentiment  to  a  keener 
glow,  which  found  expression  in  numerous  songs.  His  visit 
to  Culloden  produced  The  Lovely  Lass  of  Inverness ;  strains  of 
Jacobite  music  shaped  themselves  in  his  mind  to  The  Battle 
of  Sheriffmuir,  Whare  Hae  ye  Been  Sae  Braw  Lad,  and 
There  7/  N'ever  be  Peace  till  famie  Comes  If  ante;  and  the  same 
inspiration  gave  us  Alacpherson's  Farewell,  The  Highland 
Wido7v's  Lamefit,  Fareweel  to  a'  our  Scottish  Fame,  and  (if  it 
is  his)  Scott's  favorite,  //  Was  a'  for  our  Richtfii'  King. 

His  chief  stimulus  in  song  production,  however,  was 
Scottish  folk-music.  With  this  inspiration  he  diverted 
Johnson's  Musical  Museum  from  its  original  purpose  of  a 
mixed  popular  collection  into  purely  Scottish  channels,  and 
made  it,  if  not  the  "  standard  text-book  of  Scottish  song  for 
all  time,"  at  least  a  work  with  something  of  the  quality  and 
permanence  of  a  classic.  The  object  of  this  and  of  Thom- 
son's more  genteel  collection  was  first  of  all  musical ;  they 
sought  to  give  to  a  public  already  formed  a  full  and  repre- 
sentative body  of  the  Scottish  melodies,  supplied  with  words 
that  could  be  sung  in  the  concert  hall  and  drawing-room,  as 
well  as  in  the  cottage  or  on  the  hayfield.  Although  much 
had  been  done  by  Ramsay  and  others,  the  popular  melodies 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION. 

were   still  far  more  numerous  than  the  versions  to  which 
they  could  be  sung ;  many  of  the  fine  airs  that  were  float- 
ing among  the  people  had  words  either  silly  or  indecorous. 
And,  further,  owing  to  the  fact  that  melodies  persist  while 
words  change,  "  many  of  the  Scots  airs  had  outlived  their 
own  and  perhaps  many  subsequent  sets  of  verses  except  a 
single  name  or  phrase  or  sometimes  one  or  two  lines  simply 
to  distinguish  the  tunes  by."  ^    It  was  Burns's  task  to  collect 
these   scattered  fragments   of  Scottish   song,  and  transmit 
them  to  Johnson  and  to  Thomson  with  suitable  words,  either 
picked  up  or  composed  by  himself.    The  slight  acquaintance 
he  had  with  the  violin  enabled  him  to  gather  and  save  many 
melodies,  often  from  the  singing  of  old  women  and  country 
girls  at  their  work.     In  Thomson's  collection  they  suffered 
from  their  setting  by  the  German  composers,  Haydn,  Bee- 
thoven, Pleyel,  and  others,  who  wrote  the  arrangements  ; 
but  Burns's  correspondence  with  Thomson  shows  how  jeal- 
ously he  sought  to  guard  the  melodies  in  their  quaint  native 
originality.     "Whatever  Mr.  Pleyel  does,  let  him  not  alter 
one   iota  of  the   original   Scottish   airs."     The  words,  too, 
wherever  these  were  in  harmony  with  the  sentiment  of  the 
music,  he  transmitted   in   their  integrity.      But  where  the 
words  were  incomplete  or  weak  or  indecent,  he  worked  out 
a  version  that  would  "  say  "  the  song. 

Even  in  his  earliest  songs  he  adopted  the  custom  followed 
in  his  later  life,  of  making  the  song  grow  out  of  the  melody. 
Thus  his  songs  sing  themselves.  This  melodious  quality  is 
more  than  literary,  and  sometimes  it  is  combined  with  a  par- 
tial neglect  of  pure  literary  excellences  ;  it  belongs  to  that 
range  of  art  where  music  and  poetry  occupy  common  ground. 
He  thus  describes  his  method  of  composition  :  "  Until  I  am 
complete  master  of  a  tune  in  my  own  singing  (such  as  it  is), 
I  can   never   compose   to   it.     My  way  is :  I  consider  the 

1  Cromek's  Reliques  of  Robert  Burns,  p.  131.      Philadelphia,  1809. 


INTRODUCTION.  xlvii 

poetic  sentiment  corresponding  to  my  idea  of  the  musical 
expression,  then  choose  my  theme,  begin  one  stanza,  and 
when  that  is  composed,  which  is  generally  the  most  difficult 
part  of  the  business,  I  walk  out,  sit  down  now  and  then, 
look  out  for  objects  of  nature  around  me  that  are  in  unison 
and  harmony  .  .  .  humming  every  now  and  then  the  air 
with  the  verses  I  have  composed.  When  I  feel  my  muse 
beginning  to  jade,  I  retire  to  the  solitary  fireside  of  my 
study,  and  there  commit  my  effusions  to  paper,  swinging  at 
intervals  on  the  hind  legs  of  my  elbow  chair  by  way  of  call- 
ing forth  my  own  critical  strictures."  ^  Elsewhere  he  writes: 
"These  old  Scottish  airs  are  so  nobly  sentimental  that,  when 
one  would  compose  to  them,  to  'sowthe  the  tune,'  as  our 
Scotch  phrase  is,  over  and  over  is  the  readiest  way  to  catch 
the  inspiration."  ^  From  first  to  last  he  thus  composed  his 
songs  in  an  element  of  music  of  the  finest  and  simplest 
emotional  quality,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  his  songs  are 
emotionally  so  rich." 

By  far  the  greater  number  of  the  songs  which  bear  his 
name  are  only  modifications  of  older  songs  that  had  long 
been  current.  But  that  this  work  of  rescue  is  little  second 
in  importance,  to  his  original  work  is  sufficiently  indicated 
by  such  recoveries  and  improvements  as  Ca  the  Yowes,  Dun- 
can Gray,  Gala  Water,  and  Auld  Lang  Syne.  These  rifaci- 
menti  range  from  trivial  verbal  alterations  to  songs  in  which 
he  merely  preserves  a  chorus  or  the  title  and  a  line  or  two. 
From  his  MS.  notes  to  the  first  four  volumes  of  Johnson's 
Museum^  and  his  letters  to  Thomson,  we  see  that  he  was 
thoroughly  versed  in  the  history  of  Scottish  song,  and  that 

^  Letter  to  Thomson,  September,  1793. 

2  ComtH.  PI.  B/c,  September,  17S4,  wnd&r  AIo)ttg-o»ie)-ie's  Pe^i^gy. 

3  Further  reference  to  this  subject  in  detail  is  made  in  the  notes. 
See  also  the  Thomson  correspondence. 

*  Collected  and  printed  by  Cromek  in  his  Keliques. 


xlviii  INTRODUCTION. 

he  regarded  this  upon  which  he  was  engaged  as  a  national 
work  involving  the  honor  of  his  native  land.  Every  scrap 
of  song  that  he  could  find  giving  any  indication  or  possibility 
of  genius  he  treasured  and  turned  to  account  ;  and  to  John- 
son he  expressed  himself  as  ready  to  "  beg,  borrow,  or  steal  " 
for  the  furtherance  of  his  patriotic  object.  "  The  chorus  is 
old,  the  rest  is  mine";  "music  good,  verses  just  above 
contempt  "  ;  "  such  a  beautiful  air  to  such  execrable  verses  "  ; 
"  where  old  titles  convey  any  idea  at  all,  it  is  usually  in  the 
spirit  of  the  air  "  ;  "  insipid  stuff,  but  I  will  not  alter  except 
where  I  myself  at  least  think  I  can  amend";  "I  have 
adopted  the  two  first  two  lines  and  am  going  on  with  the 
song  on  a  new  plan," — these  few  quotations  at  random  show 
his  attitude  towards  his  material  and  his  method  of  working 
it.  A  reading  of  his  correspondence  with  Thomson  will 
show  further  that  he  rescued  and  altered  not  as  an  antiquary, 
but  with  the  instinct  of  a  poet.  It  is  needless  to  emphasize 
the  fact  that  his  improvements,  in  point  of  genius,  far  tran- 
scend all  that  he  improved  upon ;  it  is  more  important  to 
notice  that  this  clarification  of  genius,  and  not  the  "  inspired 
scavenger  "  kind  of  work  frequently  credited  to  him,  con- 
stitutes the  purification  he  gave  to  Scottish  song.  Having 
saved  those  floating  strands  of  lyric  genius,  he  incorporated 
them  into  the  warp  and  woof  of  his  own  composition,  and 
they  are  as  truly  his  as  the  Arthurian  idylls  are  Tennyson's. 
What  he  did  was  to  redeem  the  old  as  well  as  to  reinspire 
the  new,  to  concentrate  a  national  enthusiasm  within  himself, 
to  give  coherence  and  body  to  it,  and  to  reanimate,  imper- 
sonate, and  glorify  the  lyric  genius  of  his  race  and  country. 
His  purely  original  work  was  likewise,  first  of  all,  inspired 
by  the  music  of  his  fatherland.  One  of  his  best,  the  baccha- 
nalian Willie  B reived  a  Feck  o'  Maid,  was  composed  without 
this  inspiration  ;  likewise  the  passionate  rhetoric  of  A  Man  's 
a  Man  for  a'  That.     But  we  know  how  the  music  of   The 


INTRODUCTION.  xlix 

Wren' s  Nest  thrilled  him  as  he  wrote  O  Wert  Thou  in  the  Cauld 
Blast,  and  how  the  old  strains  of  Katherine  Ogie  lent  their 
pathos  to  Highland  Mary ;  we  can  hear  the  reel  time  in  O 
Tibbie,  I  Hae  Seen  the  Day  and  the  martial  beat  of  Hey  Tiittie 
Taitie  in  Scots  Wha  Hae;  the  wild  notes  of  Macphcrson'' s  Rant 
eive  their  fire  to  the  Farewell,  and  the  lilt  of  Dai7itie  Davie 
rings  in  every  line  of  Rantin  Rovin  Robin.  The  list  might 
be  indefinitely  extended,  and  the  subject  offers  a  far  deeper 
satisfaction  than  the  mere  gratification  of  curiosity.  Those 
who  see  in  the  songs  of  Scotland  only  pleasant  little  ditties, 
to  which  they  might  listen  with  the  same  amusement  as  to 
negro  minstrelsy  on  a  banjo,  are  ignorant  of  the  fact  that 
Burns  has  converted  these  melodies  into  the  most  passionate, 
most  tender,  most  humorous  interpretations  of  the  funda- 
mental emotions  of  the  human  heart.  To  the  fact  that 
Burns  had  one  of  the  most  vigorous  and  penetrating  intel- 
lects ever  given  to  men,  add  that  the  melodies  which  he  in- 
terpreted came  to  him  laden  with  the  griefs,  joys,  and 
humors  of  several  centuries  of  national  life,  add  the  lyric 
genius  of  the  interpreter  and  the  trembling  passion  of  his 
heart,  and  Scottish  song  in  his  hands  begins  to  throw  off  its 
local  or  provincial  interest,  and  to  assume  the  value  of  a 
KTrjfjia.  es  act,  a  human  possession  for  all  time. 

It  is  true  that  he  has  dealt  with  the  subject  of  love  more 
conspicuously  than  with  any  other.  But,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  superb  excellence  of  his  love  songs  merely  as  such,  it 
should  be  noted  that  the  passion  of  love  scarcely  ever  stands 
alone  as  a  source  of  interest.  In  many  it  is  adventitious 
and  subordinate,  and  the  song  takes  its  quality  from  a  totally 
different  source,  ■ —  from  its  martial  heroism  in  Go  Fetch  to  me 
a  Tint  of  JFi/ie,  its  heart-breaking  pathos  in  Bonie  Doon,  its 
brisk  and  winning  audacity  in  O  for  Ane-and-tiventy,  7am, 
its  pastoral  quietness  in  Ca  the  Vo7oes,  its  arch  humor  in  Z>«;/- 
can  Gray,  its  chivalry  of  pure  respect  in   7'he  Banks  of  the 


1  INTRODUCTION. 

Devon,  its  feminine  roguishness  in  Last  May  a  Braw  Wooer, 
its  unearthly  consecration  in  To  Mary  in  Heaven.  In  these 
and  many  more  the  range  is  scarcely  limited  at  all  by  the 
fact  that  they  have  love  for  their  text.  He  had  a  theory, 
happily  not  adhered  to,  that  love  and  wine  were  the  exclu- 
sive themes  of  song,  but  the  preponderance  of  his  love  songs 
is  merely  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  so  much  more  of  a 
human  being  than  most;  they  come  from  the  overflowing 
fullness  of  his  animal  life  in  the  best  sense  of  that  word. 

But  though  we  set  aside  his  love  songs  altogether,  he 
would  still  be  the  author  of  Auld  Lang  Syne,  that  universal 
consecration  of  friendship  ;  of  John  Anderson  tnyjo,  in  which 
he  has  equally  for  all  time  consecrated  the  long  devotion  of 
wedded  life ;  of  A  Man  's  a  Man  for  a'  That,  in  which  he  has 
crystallized  the  spirit  of  democratic  manhood ;  of  Scots  Wha 
LLae,  which  gives  in  a  burning  drop  the  quintessence  of  the 
struggle  for  independence  that  created  Scotland;  of  Mac- 
pherson's  Farewell,  which  immortalizes  while  it  interprets  the 
baffled  spirit  of  the  outlaw  ;  of  Ranti?i  Rovin  Robin,  the  para- 
gon of  birthday  songs,  and  Willie  Brewed  a  Peck  o'  Maut, 
which  makes  bacchanalian  good-fellowship  sublime.  We 
should  still  have  the  fireside  charm  of  Contented  wi'  Little,  the 
breath  of  the  hills  in  My  Lfcart  's  in  the  LLighlands,  the  bitter- 
ness of  exile  in  The  Bonie  Banks  of  Ayr,  the  national  defiance 
of  Does  Haughty  Gaul  Lnvasion  Threat,  the  droll  bickering  of 
My  Spouse  Nancy,  the  homely  peace  of  Bessie  and  her  Spinnin 
Wheel,  the  motherly  playfulness  of  Hey  Baloo  my  Sweet  Wee 
Donald,  the  "  green  pleasures  and  gray  grief  "  of  premature 
old  age  in  The  Auld  Man,  the  heroism  of  Kenmure,  the  fun 
of  The  Weary  Fund  o'  Tow,  the  quaintly  tragic  trepidations 
of  What  Will  /  do  gin  my  Haggle  Die.  These  and  many 
others,  into  which  the  passion  of  love  in  its  limited  sense 
does  not  enter  at  all,  show  a  many-sidedness  of  genius 
nowhere  approached  in  the  songs  of  any  other  writer. 


INTRODUCTION.  li 


VI.     BURNS'S    WORK   IN    GENERAL. 

More  directly  as  regards  the  substance  and  quality  of 
Burns's  work  and  its  position  in  the  historic  development  of 
English  literature,  its  distinctive  marks  are  those  that  signify 
the  rise  of  the  new  poetry  which  reached  its  culminating  points 
in  Wordsworth  and  Byron,  —  a  return  to  natural  subjects 
and  a  new  sincerity  in  the  treatment  of  them.  In  neither  of 
these  respects  was  this  literature  new  to  Scotland  except  in 
so  far  as  the  magnitude  of  Burns's  genius  made  it  so.  But 
both  subject  and  treatment  were  so  novel  to  English  litera- 
ture that  on  receipt  of  a  volume  of  Cowper's  poems,  written 
almost  contemporaneously  with  Burns's  earlier  work,  Benja- 
min Franklin  was  so  impressed  with  the  "  something  new  " 
in  them  that  he  read  the  poems  a  second  time.  As  matter 
and  treatment  cannot  well  be  separated  in  any  great  work, 
what  is  said  on  these  subjects  is  here  arranged  under  a 
classification  of  the  former,  which  fairly  covers  the  range  of 
the  poet's  material:  (i)  Nature  inanimate;  (2)  Nature 
animate;  (3)  Man;  (4)  The.  Deil ;  (5)  God.  Thereafter  a 
few  remarks  are  added  on  the  Art  and  Ethic  of  his  work. 

(a)  N^atiire  inaiihnate. 

Though  Burns  was  reared  in  close  neighborhood  with  the 
mountains  and  the  sea,  these  enter  but  little  into  the  sub- 
stance of  his  poetry.  In  The  Vision  (1.  133)  he  speaks  of 
the  delight  he  had  as  a  boy  in  listening  to  the  dash  of  the 
waves  on  the  "  sounding  shore  "  ;  but  only  once  does  the 
sea  give  him  an  image  of  rare  imaginative  beauty  : 

The  pale  moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave, 
And  time  is  setting  wi'  me,  O. 

In   general,   the  sea  is  to  him,   as  to  the  popular  Scottish 
mind,   associated  with   separation   and  exile.      It  gives  the 


lii  INTRODUCTION. 

sad  refrain  "  owre  the  sea"  to  his  poem  On  a  Scotch  Bard, 
written  in  anticipation  of  severing  all  his  dearest  ties,  and 
in  Auld  Lang  Syne  friendship  is  knit  closer  by  the  thought 
that  "  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roared."  In  respect  of 
this  dearth  of  sea  atmosphere,  we  must  remember  that  Burns 
was  still  a  landsman,  whose  interests  were  fundamentally 
those  of  a  pastoral  and  agricultural  people  ;  and  in  later  life 
the  sea  was  to  him  but  the  harvesting  ground  of  the  smug- 
glers, whose  occupation  touched  him  on  a  side  other  than 
his  poetic.  Here,  likewise,  his  poetic  inheritance  weighed 
upon  him  ;  there  was  no  sea  tradition  in  Scottish,  as  there 
was  in  English,  literature,  nor  was  the  sea  associated  with 
the  achievement  of  Scottish  nationality. 

Similarly,  the  "mountains  wild"  of  Scotia  hold  themselves 
aloof  from  the  nearest  purpose  of  his  heart  and  the  warmest 
atmosphere  of  his  verse.  He  sees  them  "  toss'd  to  the 
skies,"  the  sun  "gilds  their  distant  brow,"  he  "wanders  on 
their  heathy  tops."  But  his  hills  are  not  the  wild  mountains 
of  the  north ;  they  are  the  neighborly  heights  of  the  low- 
lands, that  feed  the  sheep  and  send  down  the  streams  on 
whose  banks  he  loves  to  rove.  The  north  hills  furnish  him 
an  element  of  the  romance  that  belongs  to  the  clans  and 
Charlie,  and  he  can  sing  like  a  clansman : 

My  heart 's  in  the  highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here. 
But  the   mountains,  like  the  sea,  are  for  him  symbols  of 
solitude  and  alienation  ;  they  are  beyond  his  most  intimate 
range,  because   they  are    not    closely   associated  with    the 
humanity  that  is  the  ultimate  theme  of  his  song. 

His  attitude  towards  nature  is  well  illustrated  in  his  treat- 
ment of  the  wind.  In  its  softer  moods  he  sometimes,  though 
rarely,  draws  upon  it  with  fine  skill  for  pictorial  effect,  as  in 
the  Lament  of  Queen  Mary  : 

Nae  mair  to  me  the  autumn  winds 
Wave  o'er  the  yellow  corn. 


INTRODUCTION.  Uii 

But  he  excels  in  describing  a  storm,  partly  because  it 
appealed  to  his  tempestuous  nature,  partly  because  it  awak- 
ened his  livelier  sympathy  with  the  suffering  animals.  We 
recognize  the  mastery  of  stroke  in  Tarn  <?'  Shanter  : 

The  wind  blew  as  't  wad  blawn  its  last, 
The  rattlin  showers  rose  on  the  blast ; 

and  in  the  Epistle  to  W.  S.  : 

Even  winter  wild  has  charms  for  me, 
When  winds  rave  through  the  naked  tree, 
Or  blindin  drifts  wild-furious  flee. 
Darkening  the  day. 

This  sympathy  with  nature  in  her  wilder  moods  is  the 
essence  of  his  youthful  poem,  Winter,  a  Dirge ;  it  gives  the 
point  of  departure  in  A  Winter  Night,  and  it  recurs  again 
and  again  in  both  poems  and  songs  as  a  source  of  animation, 
even  where  he  only  applies  it  indirectly  byway  of  contrasted 
imagery.  No  better  description  of  a  winter  storm  was  ever 
written  than  that  in  the  opening  stanzas  of  A  Winter  Night ; 
but  there,  as  elsewhere,  the  passion  of  the  storm  wakens  a 
strain  of  a  different  kind  : 

Listenin  the  doors  an'  winnocks  rattle, 
I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle, 
Or  silly  sheep  wha  bide  this  brattle 

O'  winter  war, 
An'  through  the  drift,  deep-lairin,  sprattle 

licneath  a  scaur. 

And  the  threnody  of  the  "  winter  wind  "  becomes  a  descant 
on  "  man's  ingratitude." 

This  is  the  tonic  note  of  his  treatment  of  inanimate 
nature.  Much  as  he  loved  nature,  and  wholesomely  as  he 
drew  from  her  sweetest  springs  of  health,  her  inanimate 
beauties  never  alone  served  to  satisfy  his  human  need. 
Unlike  Thomson,  he  is  never  purely  descriptive,  unless  we 


liv  INTRODUCTION. 

except  a  few  short  passages  like  the  "  spate  "  in  The  Brigs 
of  Ayr  and  the  "burnie  "  in  Hallozveen ;  he  has  always  an 
ulterior  and  more  vital  interest,  —  animate  nature  and  hu- 
manity. Thus,  in  The  Woods  of  Drumlanrig  and  Bruar 
Water,  both  of  which  took  their  occasion  from  a  nobleman's 
"  barbarian "  disregard  of  natural  beauty,  he  gives  both 
woods  and  stream  a  human  personality,  and  makes  the 
interest  extend  to  the  trouts,  birds,  hares,  lovers,  and  the 
"wee  white  cot  aboon  the  mill."  So  the  mountain  daisy 
becomes  for  him  the  emblem  of  a  betrayed  maidenhood  and 
of  his  own  blighted  hopes.  Incidental  descriptions  are 
merely  backgrounds  for  something  animate  and  human,  or 
serve  as  decoration  for  a  canvas  in  which  the  prime  interest 
is  a  living  one.  The  songs  all  have  their  origin  in  some 
human  interest,  and  when  the  descriptive  element  is  most 
prominent,  as  in  My  Name's  Awa,  ox  Again  Rejoici7ig  Nature 
Sees,  the  description  is  presented  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  as 
an  offset  to  human  emotion. 

Still,  though  humanity  comes  first  and  nature  second  in 
Burns,  his  love  of  nature  is  none  the  less  intimate  and  sure 
on  that  account.  Amid  all  his  fleeting  and  disappointing 
loves  this  is  the  one  love  that  is  always  sure,  the  one  source 
of  healing  that  never  disappoints.  That  he  mentions  her 
only  incidentally  shows  a  finer  feeling  for  her  worth  and  a 
surer  sense  of  her  comfort  than  if  he  went  philandering  after 
her  on  set  purpose  to  admire  ;  and,  though  expressed 
admiration  of  nature  is  only  an  incidental  in  his  verse,  it 
was  no  mere  incidental,  but  an  inborn  habit  of  soul  in  his 
nature.  Even  as  an  incidental,  it  is  so  uniformly  present 
that  it  amounts  to  a  universal  element.  His  mind  is  always 
full  of  natural  beauty,  always  in  touch  with  nature's  refresh- 
ing power.  He  cannot  speak  to  his  Deil  without  finding 
room  to  adorn  his  address  with  flashes  of  natural  description 
that  make  pictures  in  themselves.     Even  the  bacchanalian 


INTRODUCTION.  Iv 

revel  of  The  JoUy  Beggars  begins :  "  When  lyart  leaves 
bestrew  the  yird,"  and  through  the  haze  of  tobacco  smoke 
and  the  fumes  of  whisky  punch  we  catch  blinks  of  sun- 
shine and  whiffs  of  the  sweet  field  breeze.  In  his  first 
Epistle  to  Davie  he  finely  sets  forth  his  trust  in  nature's 
healing  influence,  where  he  anticipates  beggary  as  his  fate ; 
in  the  songs  this  love  of  nature  tingles  with  a  rapture  only 
short  of  his  love  for  woman. ^ 

Burns  has  none  of  the  later  Wordsworthian  "philosophy," 
but  he  shows  a  sympathy  with  inanimate  nature  and  a  fresh 
delight  in.  her  beauties  not  excelled  by  Wordsworth.  The 
chief  features  of  his  treatment  of  nature  are  its  closeness 
and  intensity  ;  when  he  writes  of  the  mountain  daisy,  it  is 
like  a  mother  caressing  her  dying  child.  But  there  is  also 
a  newness  that  gives  his  poetic  interpretation  of  nature  an 
historic  value.  Before  his  day  the  minor  Scots  poets  had 
habitually  treated  the  theme,  but  only  in  a  provincial  way. 
In  England  another  Scotsman,  Thomson,  had  shown  how 
nature  can  be  turned  to  poetic  account,  but  the  "  landscape 
glow  "  of  Thomson  still  represents  something  lifeless  and 
inconversable.  In  English  poetry  nature  had  been  out  of 
fashion  for  a  hundred  years  before  Burns  came.  Cowper, 
his  contemporary,  began  to  see  nature  as  a  living  thing,  and 
added  the  interest  in  humanity ;  but  Cowper  was  first  of  all 
a  student  of  books,  and  his  love  of  nature,  human  though  it 
is,  reflects  the  mild  and  philosophic  disposition  of  the  book- 
loving  man.  Burns  was  first  of  all  bred  in  the  school  of 
country  life.  From  his  boyhood  love  of  nature  was  a  pas- 
sion in  him,  as  it  was  later  in  Wordsworth.  In  his  verse  it 
became  a  rapture.  Such  an  attitude  towards  nature  is  in 
our  own  day  a  common  experience  ;  it  was  not  so  in  the 
third  quarter  of  last  century,  when  Burns  began  to  write. 
Nature  worship  was  then  unknown  alike  as  a  poetic  cult  and 

1  See  Ep.  D.,  43-52  ;  cf.  also  The  V.,  126  ff.;  and  Ep.  IV.  S.,  67  fif. 


Ivi  INTRODUCTION. 

as  a  popular  fashion.  It  was  Burns  who  first  felt  and 
expressed  the  love  of  nature  as  a  real  joy,  and  in  his  verse 
this  humanized  love  first  appears  as  a  living  passion  in 
English  poetry. 

(b)  Nature  atiimate. 

So  closely  allied  to  his  love  of  physical  nature  as  often  to 
form  part  of  it  is  his  sympathy  with  the  lower  animals.  But 
the  animals,  both  wild  and  domestic,  belong  more  to  the 
living  humanity  that  commands  his  ultimate  interest,  and 
his  treatment  of  them  forms  no  merely  incidental  portion  of 
his  work.  Here  we  have  his  love  for  nature  specialized, 
and  the  result  is  individual  poems,  like  Poor  Mailie,  Mailie  s 
Elegy,  Aiild  Mare  Maggie,  My  Hoggie,  Water-fowl  on  Loch 
Ttirit,  the  Mouse,  and  the  Wounded  Hare.  In  these  the 
fullness  of  his  own  animal  life  overflows,  and  his  spirits  and 
affection  go  with  it. 

His  domestic  animals  are  to  Burns  among  his  dear  and 
intimate  friends,  all  the  dearer  by  reason  of  their  depen- 
dence and  dumb  ways.  They  cease  to  be  part  of  his  farm 
stock,  and  become  poor  relations  whom  he  loves  and  social 
companions  who  can  enter  into  his  feelings  and  hold  con- 
verse with  him.  Auld  Mare  Maggie  is  the  record  of  a  life- 
time of  good-comradeship  with  his  horse.  He  had  known 
her  as  a  foal  in  the  pasture  and  watched  her  tricky  ways. 
She  had  pranced  with  pride  as  she  bore  home  his  bonnie 
young  wife.  She  had  been  to  all  the  markets  with  him  and 
carried  him  home  when  in  his  cups.  With  him  she  had  won 
racing  honors  from  all  the  roadsters  of  the  countryside. 
She  had  plowed  with  him,  carted  with  him,  given  him  foals 
of  her  breed,  shared  all  his  troubles,  and  now,  when  they 
have  worn  to  crazy  age  together,  he  brings  her  a  New  Year's 
handsel,  and  promises  he  will  reserve  a  pasture  for  her, 
that  they  may  still  "  toyte  about  wi'  ane  anither."     Sympa- 


INTRODUCTION.  IvU 

thy  of  this  kind  is  closely  akin  to  humor.  To  this  sympathy 
add  a  touch  of  drollery,  and  you  find  Burns  personating  them 
to  the  life,  and  becoming  a  sheep  with  Mailie  and  a  dog 
with  Luath  and  Caesar.  Not  only  does  Mailie,  in  the  Elegy, 
descry  him  a  long  half-mile  away,  run  to  meet  him  with 
kindly  bleat,  and  trot  by  his  side  through  all  the  town,  but 
in  the  Death  and  Dying  Words  he  assumes  her  individuality, 
interprets  her  sheep  sense,  gives  her  offspring  the  best  of 
lessons  in  good  sheep  behavior,  laments  the  state  of  her 
master's  purse,  and  with  her  dying  breath  bequeaths  to 
honest  Hughoc  that  precious  gift,  her  "blether."  The  sub- 
ject matter  oiThe  Twa  Dogs  is  less  brute  than  human,  but  its 
interpretation  of  Scottish  peasant  life  is  primarily  set  in  an 
interpretation  of  canine  life  which  is  so  sympathetic  that 
the  dogs  never  lose  their  identity ;  they  are  dogs  from  first 
to  last,  from  the  manner  of  their  sitting  down  ^  to  their  rising 
up.  They  are  dogs  in  their  point  of  view  even  to  such 
details  as  their  reference  to  the  whipper-in  as  "it,"  and  to 
bull  fighting  as  "  fechtin'  wi'  nowt,"  or  the  canine  sympathy 
with  which  Luath  says  : 

My  heart  has  been  sae  fain  to  see  them 
That  I  for  joy  hae  barkit  wi'  them. 

In  his  treatment  of  wild  animals  Burns  is  equally  sympa- 
thetic and  tender  ;  but  here  the  brutalities  of  sport,  which 
he  always  denounced,  and  the  severities  of  nature,  which 
man  cannot  help,  deepened  his  humor  to  indignation  and 
pity.  The  song  birds,  of  course,  belong  to  his  lyric  joy, 
and  throughout  his  poetry  we  hear  the  carol  of  lark  and 
linnet,  the  robin's  pensive  warble,^  the  "  wild-whistling  black- 
bird," the  "  mellow  mavis'  e'enin  sang."  Poems  and  songs 
alike  thrill  with  the  happy  voices  of  nature's  wild  choristers. 

^  See  Burns's  first  reading  and  subsequent  alteration. 
2  See  note  on  Bruar  IViXter,  1.  47. 


Iviii  INTRODUCTION. 

Even  cries  not  in  themselves  musical  become  for  him  sounds 
of  joy  and  expressions  of  nature's  happiness.  "I  nevet 
hear  the  loud  solitary  whistle  of  the  curlew  in  a  summer 
noon  or  the  wild  mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  gray  plovers 
in  an  autumnal  morning  without  feeling  an  elevation  of  soul 
like  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion  or  poetry."  ^  The  other 
side  to  this  sunny  gladness  of  natural  love  is  his  pity  for 
their  sufferings  when  their  own  mother's  heart  seems  to 
freeze  towards  them.  Then  in  the  stormy  winter  night  he 
thinks  of  the  silly  sheep  and  the  ourie  cattle,  and  the  words' 
come  like  tears  of  infinite  compassion. 

Ilk  happin  bird,  wee  helpless  thing, 
That  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing. 

What  comes  o'  thee? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cower  thy  chitterin  wing 

An'  close  thy  ee  .-' 

Then,  while  "pitiless  the  tempest  beats,"  he  has  pity  even 
for  the  beasts  .and  birds  of  prey.  This  womanly  tenderness, 
which  is  always  combined  with  masculine  strength,  takes  a 
still  keener  expression  when  it  is  touched  by  the  thought  of 
human  wantonness  and  cruelty.  Burns  has  frequently  de- 
livered himself  on  the  subject  of  field  sports  ;  ^  but  when  he 
sees  the  waterfowl  on  Loch  Turit  rise  and  fly  from  his  mere 
presence,  and  the  poor  mouse  run  in  panic  from  the  gauds- 
man  who  pursues  it  "  wi'  murd'rin  pattle,"  his  tenderness 
is  at  once  irradiated  by  the  reflection  that  these  are  his 
"fellow-creatures,"  and  he  their  "earth-born  companion  and 
fellow-mortal." 

If  he  had  a  suggestion  of  this  strain  of  sentiment  from 
any  one,  it  was  from  Sterne  ;  no  previous  poet  had  expressed 

1  Letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Jan.  i,  1789. 

2  See  August  Song  to  Peggy,  lines  On  a  Wounded  Hare,  and  the  open- 
ing passage  of  The  Brigs  of  Ayr. 


INTRODUCTION.  lix 

it.  But  the  firm  strength  and  healthy  grace  of  Burns's  feel- 
ing, compared  with  Sterne's  bibbering  lament  over  the  ass,- 
again  mark  the  advent  of  a  new  era;  here  again  the  genu- 
ineness of  his  poetry  shows  itself.  He  offers  none  of  the 
vague  rhapsodies  of  a  bleeding  heart.  He  describes  what 
he  sees  and  what  he  feels.  The  hare  he  laments  was  one 
he  saw  limping  past  him  ;  he  heard  the  shot  fired  and  threat- 
ened to  throw  the  wretch  who  fired  it  into  the  Nith.  The 
mouse  was  one  he  turned  up  with  the  plow ;  he  saw  it  run 
and  saved  its  life.  Mailie  was  his  own  "pet  yowe,"  to 
whom  the  accident  happened  ;  he  saw  her  "  warstlin  i'  the 
ditch."  Luath  was  his  own  dog,  who  talked  with  him  and 
who  knew  what  he  said.  His  feelings,  whether  of  tender- 
ness, joy,  sorrow,  or  indignation,  are  always  real  and  always 
intense.  This  close  and  loving  sympathy  with  the  lower 
animals  found  its  first  poetic  expression  in  Burns  and  his 
contemporary  Cowper,  and  it  has  never  been  so  finely  and 
amply  expressed  since. 

(c)  Man. 

As  a  man  Burns  thought  nothing  human  alien  to  him. 
Like  every  wise  artist,  he  handles  by  preference  the  material 
with  which  he  is  most  intimate.  But  his  secondary  range 
includes  every  phase  of  humanity  that  comes  under  his 
notice,  from  the  ragamuffins  at  Poosie  Nansie's  to  the  king 
upon  the  throne.  It  is  a  mistake  to  speak  of  his  poetry  as 
if  its  horizon  were  limited  to  that  of  the  Scottish  peasant. 
Personally,  he  mixed  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  all  classes. 
He  numbered  among  his  friends  many  leaders  in  the  world 
of  fashion,  both  in  letters  and  in  society,  members  of  the 
bench  and  bar,  clergy  of  the  New  Light,  members  of  Parlia- 
ment, and  representatives  of  the  dramatic  stage,  and  in  the 

^  Tristra?ji  Shandy,  bk.  vii,  ch.  xxxii. 


Ix  INTRODUCTION. 

broader  field  of  political  life  he  joined  hands  with  Washing- 
ton across  the  Atlantic  and  the  French  Revolutionaries 
across  the  channel.  All  of  these  interests  appear  in  his 
work  side  by  side  with  his  pictures  of  the  Scottish  peasantry, 
and  provoke  verses  that  are  instinct  with  character  and  ani- 
mation and  personal  contact.  Apart  from  his  familiar  epis- 
tles, of  which  he  has  given  us  more  than  any  other  poet 
except  Horace,  he  has  left  scores  of  epigrams,  epitaphs,  and 
squibs  that  are  merely  the  discharge  of  his  superabundant 
electricity  when  it  comes  into  contact  with  anything  human. 
Burns  believed  with  Pope  that  "  the  proper  study  of  man- 
kind is  man."  But  here  the  agreement  ceases.  The  "  man  " 
of  Pope's  line  must,  by  birth,  breeding,  or  sympathy,  be  an 
aristocrat,  something  of  a  wit,  a  townsman,  and  habitue  of 
the  coffeehouses  and  salons ;  no  other  kind  of  man  was  of 
important  interest.  Burns's  man,  who  is  "a  man  for  a' 
that,"  is  of  the  democracy  that  revolted  against  privilege 
and  accomplished  the  revolution.  Burns  himself  was  of  the 
democracy,  and  all  his  treatment  of  humanity  takes  its  tone 
and  color  from  his  democratic  point  of  view.  His  father 
belonged  to  the  unprivileged  and  suffering  classes,  and  was 
harassed  to  the  grave  under  the  aristocratic  institution  of 
British  landlordism.  The  poet  himself  was  always  poor. 
In  his  youth  and  early  manhood  he  was  only  an  overworked 
plowman,  "  half-mad,  half -fed,  half-sarkit."  He  was  never 
anything  more  than  a  "little  farmer."  His  latter  days  were 
spent  in  "  searchin  auld  wives'  barrels," — following  an 
occupation  that  bore  a  worse  social  stigma  than  that  of  a 
policeman.  His  aristocratic  experiences  in  Edinburgh  and 
elsewhere  were  only  episodes  in  his  life.  Knowing  his  own 
genius  and  having  tasted  of  its  power,  knowing,  too,  by 
cruel  experience,  the  hardships  and  sorrows  of  the  poor,  he 
very  early  contracted  a  jealousy  of  wealth  and  social  dis- 
tinction which,  in  his  later  years,  became  inveterate.     Dur- 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixi 

ing  his  second  winter  in  the  capital,  when  the  roses  were 
now  dead  leaves  and  thorns,  this  jealousy  was  embittered 
into  scorn  and  hate  ;  and,  when  he  returned  two  years  later, 
the  picture  he  gives  of  himself  and  of  his  reflections  amid  the 
pomp  of  Princes  Street  is  curiously  like  that  of  Langland 
five  hundred  years  before  in  the  Strand  of  London:^  This 
Piers  Plowman  element  of  his  character  is  deeply  marked  in 
his  writings,  especially  in  his  prose,  but  he  was  saved  from 
its  warping  influences  by  his  sanguine  temperament,  his 
elastic  joy  in  living,  his  humor,  and  his  faith  in  human 
goodness. 

British  class  distinction,  then,  is  not  merely  one  of  the 
influences  that  affected  Burns's  view  of  life  :  it  is  the  social 
groundwork  on  which  his  poems  are  built.  This  was  not 
so  much  a  distinction  between  rich  and  poor  as  between 
aristocracy  and  plebs,  —  a  distinction  then  so  implicitly 
accepted  as  a  fundamental  part  of  human  destiny  that  even 
Burns  regards  it  as  inexorable.  It  is  true  he  denies  the 
rationality  and  justice  of  it,  and  his  attitude  towards  it,  even 
in  his  early  poems,  is  a  kind  of  rebellious  uneasiness  and 
resentment.  In  Man  Was  Made  to  Mourn,  looking  sadly  on 
the  fields  "  where  hundreds  labor  to  support  a  haughty  lord- 
ling's  pride,"  he  asks,  in  angry  mood  : 

If  I  'm  designed  yon  lordling's  slave  — 

By  nature's  law  designed  — 
Why  was  an  independent  wish 

E'er  planted  in  my  mind  ? 

But  he  sees  no  remedy  except  in  death.^  He  is  no  apostle 
of  the  rebellion  which  expresses  itself  in  lawlessness  and 
disorder.  He  looks  clean  through  the  guises  of  distinction, 
and   king,   queen,   and   royal   family   in  A  Dream,   and  the 

^  See    letter   to   Mrs.   Dunlop,  Mar.  4,   1789.     Cf.   riets  Plowman's 
Vision.  2  Cf.  Ep.  to  Davie,  11.  16  ff. 


Ixii  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

aristocratic  leaders  of  the  nation  in  his  Earnest  Cry  and 
Prayer  cease  to  be  "  personages,"  and  become  men  and 
women  whom  he  levels  to  their  rank  as  human  beings  by 
right  of  his  common  humanity.  But  this  intuitive  process 
must  not  be  confounded  with  political  or  social  leveling. 
The  disillusionment  he  brings  is  not  that  of  political  radical- 
ism, but  of  sheer  human  nature.  He  professed  to  learn  from 
Lord  Daer  "  to  meet  with  unconcern  one  rank  as  well 's  an- 
other "  ;  but,  although  to  him  "  the  rank  was  but  the  guinea's 
stamp"  and  "the  man  the  gowd,"  he  never  proposed  to 
abolish  the  stamp  and  reduce  society  to  the  bullion  of  hu- 
manity. Social  distinction  never  enhanced  a  person's  value 
in  his  eyes,  but  he  accepted  aristocracy,  squirearchy,  and 
gentry  in  general  as  part  of  the  social  economy  which  pro- 
duced the  cotter,  and  which,  while  he  did  not  defend  it,  he 
had  too  strong  sense  impotently  to  attack. 

Compare  A  Dream  with  another  poem,  in  which  he  reaches 
to  the  opposite  pole  of  British  distinction.  The  Jolly  Beggars. 
The  poem  is  a  work  of  divination  by  which  he  lays  bare  the 
human  heart  of  the  vagabond,  as  in  the  other  he  pierces  to 
the  quick  of  royal  humanity.  In  it  the  claims  of  rank  dis- 
appear, and  his  assertion  of  human  freedom  presents  itself 
in  a  way  that  startles.  We  are  introduced  to  the  kitchen  of 
Poosie  Nansie's  public  house,  where  round  the  fire  on  an 
early  winter  night  there  are  met  seven  or  eight  tramps  of  all 
shades  and  both  sexes,  who  drink  their  superfluous  money, 
pawn  their  clothes  for  more,  and  make  the  rafters  shake 
with  revelry  in  celebration  of  their  defiant  liberties. 

A  fig  for  those  by  law  protected  ! 

Liberty  's  a  glorious  feast; 
Courts  for  cowards  were  erected, 

Churches  built  to  please  the  priest. 

What  is  title  ?  what  is  treasure  ? 
What  is  reputation's  care  ? 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixiii 

If  we  lead  a  life  of  pleasure, 
'T  is  no  matter  how  or  where. 

Life  is  all  a  variorum, 

We  regard  not  how  it  goes ; 
Let  them  cant  about  decorum 

Who  have  characters  to  lose. 

Here  we  are  not  merely  outside  the  range  of  social  distinc- 
tions :  we  are  even  outside  the  range  of  social  restraint  and 
the  simple  regimen  of  the  ten  commandments.  But,  wild  as 
the  scene  is,  we  are  down  on  the  bed  rock  of  human  nature. 
But  the  great  body  of  his  work  is  not  only  surrounded  by 
an  atmosphere  of  Scottish  rural  life,  it  is  made  up  of  scenes 
and  studies  in  the  lives  and  manners  of  the  Scottish  peas- 
antry from  the  peasant's  point  of  view.  The  Twa  Dogs,  a 
poem  drawn  direct  from  what  he  saw  on  his  father's  farm,  is 
a  picture  of  the  two  sides  of  British  country  life.  It  is 
not  "the  old  controversy  between  the  rich  and  the  poor."' 
It  rests  on  the  sharp  aristocratic  distinction  between  a  privi- 
leged landed  gentry  and  an  unprivileged  yeomanry  and 
peasantry,  who  still  maintain  much  of  the  mediaeval  distinc- 
tion between  Norman  baron  and  Saxon  hind.  Unless  this 
is  understood  the  point  of  the  poem  is  missed.  The  side 
which  Caisar  portrays  is  what  Burns  knew  by  every  ache  in 
his  soul  and  body.  He  had  worked  with  "the  unceasing 
moil  of  a  galley  slave"  to  make  up  the  "  racked  rent."  The 
laird's  whipper-in,  "wee  blastit  wonner,"  had  many  a  time 
ridden  full  cry  hunting  the  fox  over  his  father's  crops,  with 
the  hunters  at  his  heels.  His  pride  had  often  been  stung  to 
see  how  the  gentry  would  "  gang  as  saucy  by  poor  folk  as  I 
wad  by  a  stinkin  brock."  The  scene  described  in  lines  93- 
100  is  taken  from  one  of  the  experiences  that  drove  his 
father  to  the  grave  a  broken   man.     His  secondary  descrip- 

1  Shairp's  Burns  {Eii^'^.  Men  of  Letters),  p.  191. 


Ixi  V  INTR  OD  UC  TION. 

tions  of  "gentry's  life  in  common,"  their  follies,  vices,  and 
enfiui,  are  taken  from  current  belief  amongst  his  own  class. 
If  this  side  alone  were  portrayed,  the  poem  would  be  a 
moral  satire,  as  bitter  and  realistic  as  portions  of  Piers  Flow- 
man.  It  takes  a  sweeter  and  more  ideal  complexion  from 
the  pictures  drawn  by  Luath  of  the  cotters'  fireside  joys, 
their  harvest  homes,  and  new-year  merry  makings,  their 
village  politics,  their  thriving  children,  their  blink  of  rest. 
Underneath  their  unlovely  toil  and  semi-starvation  he  rec- ' 
ognizes  the  ethical  beauty  of  their  lives.  But  neither  is 
Luath's  idealism  divorced  from  what  is  real.  He,  too,  is 
keenly  realistic  in  his  detail  of  the  cotter  "  howkin  in  a 
sheugh,"  the  "  smytrie  o'  wee  duddie  weans,"  the  "  twal- 
pennie  worth  o'  nappie,"  the  "luntin  pipe  an'  sneeshin  mill," 
the  "wee  touch  langer  an'  they  maun  starve  o'  cauld  an' 
hunger."  But  over  it  all  he  sheds  the  soft  light  of  human 
love,  and  a  new  ethical  strength  is  felt  when  he  says  that 

Buirdly  chiels  an'  clever  hizzies 
Are  bred  in  sic  a  way  as  this  is. 

In  The  Twa  Dogs  he  accepts  the  division  in  social  life,  and, 
seeing  the  futility  of  kicking  against  the  pricks,  he  softens 
the  severity  of  the  contrast  by  the  sunshine  of  human  affec- 
tion. In  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  and  in  Halloween  we 
have  pictures  of  the  same  rural  life,  into  which  the  disturb- 
ing: influence  of  class  distinction  does  not  enter.  There  he 
forgets  there  is  such  a  thing  as  social  inequality,  and  de- 
scribes the  peasantry  in  the  quiet  dignity  and  devotion  of 
their  cottage  homes  and  in  the  innocent  mirth  of  their  rustic 
festivals.  The  Holy  Fair  describes  a  country  gathering  of 
another  and  less  innocent  kind,  while  it  shows  up  a  different 
side  of  Scotch  religion.  In  the  Haggis  and  Scotch  Drink  he 
gives  a  poetic  celebration  and  something  of  national  glory 
to  the  countryman's  food  and  liquor.    In  the  DeillciQ.  touches 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixv 

off  rustic  superstitions  regarding  the  fourth  person  of  the 
Scottish  godhead.  In  general,  his  poetry  is  a  reflex  of  the 
country  Hfe  of  Scotland  in  all  its  beauty  and  ugliness,  its 
mingled  faith  and  superstition,  piety  and  irreverence,  sobriety 
and  drunkenness,  integrity  and  hypocrisy,  and  from  its 
strength  and  lifelike  truth  in  this  it  takes  its  primary  value. 
But  in  three  respects  his  treatment  of  life  rises  out  of 
this  provincial  atmosphere, —  its  patriotic  and  national  tone, 
its  universal  quality,  and  its  look  towards  the  future.  Patriot- 
ism is  never  merely  provincial,  and  no  poetry  was  ever  more 
intensely  patriotic  than  that  of  Burns.  Patriotic  in  that  it 
gathers  up  the  traditions  and  elements  of  Scottish  national 
life  and  character,  it  is  still  more  so  in  the  fire  of  national 
pride  with  which  the  poet  himself  is  aglow.  He  is  a  national, 
not  a  local,  poet,  and,  although  his  Scotland  is  a  thing  of  the 
past,  his  poetry  will  endure,  not  as  a  provincial  product,  but 
as  a  national  monument.  Secondly,  his  poetry  has  that 
which  makes  it  appeal  as  directly  to  Americans  and  foreign- 
tongued  Europeans  as  to  Scotsmen.  Shining  through  the 
local  and  particular,  there  is  always  the  universal  element 
which  we  find  in  the  men  and  women  of  Shakspere's  dramas. 
His  men  and  women  are,  first  of  all,  human  beings;  only 
in  a  secondary  sense  are  they  peasants  of  Ayrshire.  We 
miss,  it  is  true,  those  fine  forms  of  nobility  which  Shakspere 
found  it  easier  to  create  because  he  had  them  always 
before  his  eyes.  Burns,  too,  missed  them  ;  hence  much  of 
his  warfare  with  the  time  that  was  "  out  of  joint."  But,  such 
as  it  is,  his  material  is  the  permanent  substance  of  human 
nature,  and  his  treatment  is  so  free  from  the  intellectual 
astigmatism  which  constitutes  provinciality  that,  next  to 
Shakspere,  he  is,  perhaps,  the  most  intimately  known  foreign 
poet  in  Germany.  But,  thirdly,  Burns  was  beyond  the  atmos- 
phere of  provincial  humanity,  in  that  both  as  man  and  poet 
he  embodied  the  germinal  ideas  of  the  new  democracy  which 


Ixvi  INTRODUCTION. 

was  to  be  the  most  active  force  in  the  life  and  literature  of 
the  succeeding  age, —  individual  right  and  human  brother- 
hood. His  actual  politics  count  for  little.  Singing  in  the 
morning  twilight  of  modern  times,  he  had  no  clear  percep- 
tion of  political  liberty  and  political  equality  based  on  the 
above  ideas  ;  he  had  no  "  theory  of  government."  But  his 
imagination  anticipated  the  time  when  these  principles  would 
dominate  all  political  life  and  transfigure  the  nations  of  the 
world.  His  political  sympathies,  which  sprung  from  his 
feeling  for  the  pain  of  life  among  the  unprivileged  toilers, 
belong  to  his  recognition  and  assertion  of  the  claims  of 
human  worth  and  the  nobility  that  is  alike  unauthenticated 
and  unabashed  by  rank.  His  poetry  gave  these  claims 
irresistible  utterance.  It  was  a  voice  straight  from  the 
democracy,  speaking  for  the  democracy  with  unexampled 
directness,  energy,  and  pride  ;  and  in  this,  not  less  than  in 
his  poetic  interpretation  of  nature  and  his  sympathy  with 
the  lower  animals,  he  was  the  pioneer  of  a  new  renaissance. 

(d)   The  Deil. 

In  Burns's  treatment  of  the  supernatural  we  find  a  similar 
freshness  and  originality.  Twice  he  introduces  figures  that 
appear  like  veritable  apparitions,  —  Coila,  in  The  Vision,  and 
Death,  in  Dr.  Hornbook,  —  and  a  comparison  of  these  will 
show  where  his  strength  lies.  We  are  prepared  for  both,  in 
the  first  case  by  the  poet's  reverie,  in  the  second  by  his 
assumed  condition.  In  both  cases,  as  soon  as  the  visitant  is 
observed  the  illusion  of  the  supernatural  disappears.  Both 
apparitions  are  flesh  and  blood  ghosts.  We  are  beyond  the 
world  of  mere  illusion  and  in  the  presence  of  beings  that 
have  the  reality  which  belonged  to  similar  creations  of  the 
Hellenic  mind.  Coila  is  quite  a  corporeal  Scotch  lassie. 
Death  is  fearfully  real   in   his  gaunt  length,  with    his  thin 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixvii 

shanks  and  "  fient  a  wame,"  his  implements  and  his  beard  and 
the  fit  of  temper  in  which  he  "  nearhand  cowps."  But 
Death  is  a  creation  of  humor,  and  therein  lies  its  superiority. 
The  serious  and  the  supernatural  do  not  seem  to  accord  in 
Burns's  mind.  Even  the  fine  poetic  illusion  of  the  fairies 
dancing  on  the  "  infant  ice  "  under  the  brigs  of  Ayr  passes 
away  among  capitalized  abstractions.  And  Burns  is  less  at 
home  among  "  spirits  of  health "  than  among  "  goblins 
damned."  Death  himself  has  an  element  of  diablerie  in  his 
composition,  and,  apart  from  the  above,  the  supernatural  in 
his  work  is  wholly  devilish  in  its  origin  and  wholly  humor- 
ous in  its  character. 

The  reason  is  that  for  him  the  supernatural  was  insepar- 
ably associated  with  the  teachings  of  the  Scotch  theology 
which  he  did  so  much  to  discredit  and  wipe  out,  especially  the 
doctrine  of  eternal  torture  in  a  material  hell  of  flaming  sul- 
phur under  the  eye  of  a  personal  devil.  In  rejecting  crude 
medievalism  of  this  kind.  Burns  makes  fun  of  hell  and 
friendship  with  the  Deil.  In  The  Holy  Fair  "  black  Russell  " 
describes  the  place  of  torture  and  "harrows  their  souls." 

The  half-asleep  start  up  wi'  fear 

An'  think  they  hear  it  roarin  ; 
When  presently  it  does  appear 

'T  was  but  some  neibor  snorin. 

The  Address  to  the  Deil  runs  over  the  whole  ground  of  kirk 
teaching  and  popular  superstition,  and  with  mock  serious- 
ness preserves  the  point  of  view  and  the  emotion  proper  to 
each  part  of  the  subject  ;  but  at  the  close  the  poet  and  the 
Deil  shake  hands. 

Combined  with  this  direct  teaching  of  the  kirk  was  a 
great  mass  of  floating  superstition,  partly  Celtic,  partly 
Norse  in  its  origin,  which  the  kirk  likewise  consigned  to  the 
devil  under  the  elastic  name  of  witchcraft.     Burns  learnt  all 


Ixviii  INTRODUCTION. 

of  this  folk  superstition  in  his  childhood  from  old  Betty 
Davidson/  and  so  vividly  was  it  impressed  on  his  imagina- 
tion that  even  in  manhood  he  confessed  it  "  took  an  effort 
to  shake  off  these  idle  terrors."  Some  of  this  is  worked  into 
the  substance  of  Halloween.  That  is  the  night  when  the 
fairies  dance  and  the  natural  and  supernatural  worlds  come 
close  together.  The  spells  are  all  innocent  enough,  but 
there  is  a  shadowy  background  to  the  scene,  in  which  the 
powers  of  Satan  darkly  shift  about  and  threaten  with  vague 

alarms. 

Mony  a  ane  has  gotten  a  fricht 
An'  lived  an'  died  deleerit 
On  sic  a  nicht. 

But  in  all  the  spells  tried  the  dim  terrors  of  the  supernatural 
are  softened  and  made  familiar  with  touches  of  humor. 
There  is  the  same  familiarizing  touch  in  Tatn  d'  Shanter, 
where  the  devil  and  his  troop  appear  in  person.  The  poem 
takes  its  departure  from  a  scene  of  over-jollity;  the  kirk 
scene  is  equally  hilarious,  though  the  mirth  be  the  mirth  of 
devils  ;  the  hero's  tipsy  cry  "  Weel  done,  Cutty-sark  !  "  is  a 
touch  of  pure  humor ;  and  the  fate  of  mare  Meg  is  not  tragic, 
but  comical.  In  spite  of  the  accumulated  horrors  that 
impart  such  eeriness  to  Tam's  ride,  the  grewsome  parapher- 
nalia that  adorn  the  church  walls  and  the  holy  table,  and 
the  actual  presence  of  Satan  and  the  witches,  the  poem, 
though  it  has  much  of  the  tragic  circumstance,  has  nothing 
of  the  tragic  terror  of  the  witch  scenes  in  Macbeth. 

Burns's  treatment  of  the  Deil  in  person  brings  to  a  head 
all  these  qualities  of  reality,  humanism,  humor.  The  devil 
of  kirk  theology  and  popular  credence  was  a  mere  bugaboo 
with  hardly  a  remnant  of  fallen  greatness  about  him.  He  was 
the  devil  of  the  Miracle  plays,  to  whom  Protestant  Scotland 
had  fallen  heir.     In  the  Address  Burns  takes  him  as  he  is. 

1  See  note  on  The  Deil,  1.  63. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixix 

His  Deil  is  what  the  Satan  who  lost  paradise  has  become 
during  eighteen  centuries  of  ecclesiastical  bullying  and  ill 
usage.  He  has  forgotten  the  days  when  he  held  brusque 
converse  with  the  Omnipotent  in  the  presence  chamber  of 
heaven,  and  has  sunk  to  bagpiping  at  a  witch's  splore.  He 
has  lived  in  Scotland,  and  been  persecuted,  maligned, 
afifronted,  and  nicknamed  by  the  respectabilities  of  the  kirk 
till  he  has  lost  all  self-respect  and  taken  to  low  mi.schief,  — 
unroofing  the  churches,  making  the  cows  "  yeld,"  frighten- 
ing the  nightly  wayfarer  by  quacking  like  a  wild  duck. 
With  a  touch  of  his  ancient  poetry,  he  still  loves  to  quit  the 
haunts  of  men  and  wander  in  lonely  glens  where  ruined  cas- 
tles nod  to  the  moon  ;  but  hard  treatment  and  lack  of  sym- 
pathy have  done  their  work.  Burns  gives  him  sympathy 
such  as  he  never  has  got  before  or  since.  He  calls  him 
away  from  his  ugly  business  of  basting  poor  wretches  with 
liquid  brimstone,  talks  over  old  times  with  him,  reminds  him. 
of  his  former  glory,- — of  "Eden's  bonie  yard,"  where  he 
gave  the  infant  world  a  "  shog  "  that  nearly  ruined  all,  of 
the  festive  time  he  had  with  Job,  when,  with  a  consummate 
genius  for  wickedness,  he  capped  the  old  man's  misery  by 
unloosing  his  wife's  tongue  upon  him.  Probably  he  is  now 
too  far  gone  for  complete  restitution,  but,  believing  that  even 
the  deil  is  not  so  bad  as  he  is  painted,  the  poet  bids  him  a 
tender  good  by,  with  a  word  of  charitable  sympathy  that  is 
like  a  message  direct  from  heaven  :  "  O  wad  ye  tak  a  thocht 
an'  mend." 

(e)  God. 

The  subject  of  religion  enters  to  a  vital  extent  into  the 
body  of  Burns's  writings  and  affects  these  in  three  ways, 
which  appear  (i)  in  his  objective  pictures  of  the  simple  faith 
and  practice  of  the  Scottish  peasantry,  (2)  in  his  satires  on 
the  official  religion  of  the  kirk,  and  (3)  in  per.sonal  expres- 


Ixx  INTRODUCTION. 

sions  of  religious  thought  and  feeling  throughout  his  poems 
and  letters. 

Bred  in  a  religious  home  like  that  described  in  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  he  absorbed  its  influences  with  a 
fervor  that  made  him  noted  in  his  boyhood  for  an  enthusias- 
tic and  unreasoning  piety,^  and  in  later  years  he  never  forgot 
the  religion  he  learned  at  his  father's  hearth.  To  this  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night  is  as  noble  a  tribute  as  any  poet 
ever  paid  to  faith  in  God.  The  English  Men  of  Letters 
critic  somewhat  grudgingly  reminds  the  reader  that  "the 
religion  there  described  was  his  father's  faith,  not  his  own"; 
but  a  more  intimate  personal  interest  is  added  in  the  fact 
that  on  his  father's  death  the  poet  took  his  place  as  head  of 
the  family,  and  every  night  conducted  the  same  family  wor- 
ship ;  long  afterwards  the  hired  man  remembered  those 
prayers.  At  Ellisland,  too,  he  regularly  held  family  wor- 
ship with  his  servants,  and  in  his  letters  he  always  recog- 
nizes the  necessity  of  "regular  intercourse  with  the  Deity" 
as  a  condition  of  inward  peace.  He  knew  the  value  of  this 
simple  faith  in  the  upbuilding  of  character  ;  and,  though  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night  takes  its  prime  value  from  its  objec- 
tive as  a  faithful  and  loving  portrayal  of  the  devout  side  of 
Scottish  rustic  life,  it  is  none  the  less  a  subjective  revelation 
of  the  mind  that  could  thus  faithfully  see  and  lovingly  express 
the  moral  beauty  of  the  scene  ;  the  poem  derives  its  color 
from  the  light  of  the  poet's  soul. 

The  other  side  of  Scotch  religion  was  that  represented  in 
the  kirk  theology,  which  had  come  down  inviolate  from  the 
days  of  John  Knox  and  the  Westminster  Confession, — the 
ruthless  Calvinism  of  the  old  Scotch  Puritans  divested  of 
its  old  Puritan  grandeur.  Just  as  Burns  was  coming  to  his 
maturity  and  beginning  to  feel  the  first  pride  of  intellect,  it 

1  Letter  To  Dr.  Moore,  Aug.  2,  1787;  cf.  To  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Dec.  29, 
1795- 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxi 

happened  that  a  broader  and  milder  conception  of  divine 
providence,  which  had  for  some  time  been  growing  among 
the  more  enlightened  and  less  ascetic  clergy,  asserted  itself 
in  the  church,  and  Ayrshire  in  particular  was  the  arena  in 
which  the  Old  Light  and  the  New  were  arrayed  against  each 
other.  Burns's  intellectual  sympathies  were  all  with  the 
New  Light  clergy  ;  his  moral  sympathies,  too,  were  aroused 
against  the  intolerance,  hypocrisy,  and  uncharitableness 
bred  and  fostered  by  the  old  orthodoxy  ;  and  his  sense  of 
humor  and  power  of  sarcasm  were  excited  to  irrepressible 
activity  by  the  Herds  and  Holy  Willies  and  "  unco  guid  "  in 
general  who  stood  for  Election  and  Grace. 

His  icirk  satires,  deplored  by  his  English  Men  of  Letters 
biographer,  are  a  class  by  themselves,  and  form  a  chapter  in 
the  history  of  religious  liberty.  "Not  Latimer,  not  Luther, 
struck  more  telling  blows  against  false  theology  than  did 
this  brave  singer."  ^  But  it  is  more  than  false  theology  he 
arraigns  and  castigates.  He  not  only  exposes  cant,  hypoc- 
risy, and  superstition  in  general,  and  holds  up  to  derision 
dogmas  and  observances  grown  worse  than  obsolete ;  he 
drives  the  theological  satire  home  to  the  moral  life,  and  for 
his  victims  he  selects  by  undisguised  name  the  actual  pro- 
fessors and  devotees  of  the  ultra-Calvinistic  faith,  who  were 
known  in  person  to  all  who  read  the  satires.  All  of  these 
objects  he  assails  with  a  vehemence  that  might  be  thought 
vindictive  were  not  the  satirist  in  such  splendid  good-humor  ; 
and  he  punishes  them  with  a  soundness  and  penetrative 
force  that  entitle  him  to  rank  as  high  among  religious 
reformers  as  mere  satire  will  entitle  a  man  to  be  placed. 
As  literary  works  they  are  marked  by  keen  human  sympathy 
and  virile  moral  strength,  a  revel  of  mother  wit  and  humor 
and  blistering  sarcasm,  daring  strokes  of  imagination  that 
blend  the  humorous  with  the  sublime,  realism  to  a  degree 

1  Emerson  on  Burns 


Ixxii  INTRODUCTION. 

that  startles,  extraordinary  facility  of  versification,  and  force 
of  language  that  crushes  like  a  trip-hammer.  The  outcry 
about  Burns's  "  want  of  religion  "  was  largely  due  to  those 
satires,  to  the  animosity  they  excited  in  the  church  party, 
and  to  the  scandals  encouraged  by  those  who  smarted  under 
his  lash.  In  justice  to  him  who  thus  held  up  to  ridicule  and 
shame  what  to  him  was  false  religion,  it  should  be  noted 
that  the  essential  points  for  which  he  contended  are  now 
matters  of  commonplace  acceptance  even  in  Scotland,  and 
what  he  assailed  has  mostly  been  allowed  to  disappear.  It 
should  also  be  remembered  that  the  author  of  Holy  Willie's 
Frayer  is  likewise  author  of  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night} 

Neither  the  religion  of  the  Cotter,  however,  nor  that  of 
Holy  Willie  was  Burns's  own.  For  one  of  his  intellectual 
strength,  roused  as  it  was  to  searching  activity  by  the  agi- 
tations of  the  modern  spirit  working  within  him,  the  simple 
faith  of  his  father  could  not  suffice.  The  remembrance  of 
it,  indeed,  remained  with  him  always,  like  an  autumnal  sun- 
set, but  it  touched  only  the  emotional  side  of  his  nature.  It 
left  his  intellect  unsatisfied.  Orthodoxy,  again,  with  its 
incredible  dogmas,  its  travesty  of  divine  goodness,  and  its 
inconsistent  practice,  affronted  alike  his  intellect  and  his 
moral  sense.  What  remained  for  him  in  that  age  ?  Only 
the  sterile  Deism  of  the  more  cultured  classes  and  the 
"  obstinate  questionings  "   and    ecstatic    aspirations  of   his 

1  For  a  succinct  and  sympathetic  account  of  these  satires,  the  student 
is  referred  to  Professor  Nichol's  monograph,  pp.  21-24.  I"  the  present 
volume  the  mildest  of  the  series  is  given,  The  Holy  Fair,  and  the  epistle 
in  which  he  summarizes  the  fight,  Ep.  to  McMath.  In  the  notes  to 
these  and  to  the  Ep.  to  William  Simson  special  detail  is  added.  For 
convenience  the  complete  list  is  here  given :  The  Twa  Herds,  Ep.  to 
Goudie,  Ep.  to  Simson  (postcript),  The  Holy  Fair,  Holy  Willie's  Prayer 
(with  the  Epitaph),  Ep.  to  McMath,  The  Ordination,  and  The  Kirk's 
Alarm.  Add  The  Calf,  Dedication  to  Gavin  Hamilton,  and  To  the  Unco 
Guid,  which  partake  of  the  same  inspiration. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxiii 

own  soul.  Beginning  in  England  with  Hobbes  as  a  reaction 
against  the  dogmatic  assumptions  of  Puritanism,  the  semi- 
religious  philosophy  of  Deism  passed  into  the  general  body 
of  1 8th  century  literature,  and  was  part  of  Burns's  literary 
inheritance.  It  appealed  to  him  more  directly  in  the  precept 
and  practice  of  his  friends  of  the  New  Light.  It  was  poor 
spiritual  diet  for  a  man  of  his  ardent  and  adoring  nature, 
but  it  was  all  the  age  had  to  offer  him  as  intellectual 
support  for  his  adorations,  and  he  accepted  it.  So  far  as 
his  faith  was  positive,  it  consisted  in  the  Deism  of  his  age, 
so  modified  as  to  accord  with  the  warmer  impulses  of  his 
heart  and  his  instinctive  need  of  divine  sympathy.  This  is 
the  religion  we  find  in  his  metrical  Prayers^  and  in  casual 
utterances  like  that  in  his  Sketch  on  New  Year's  Day,  ijgo. 
But  Deism,  —  the  product,  as  it  was  the  faith,  of  an  age 
and  society  that  on  the  moral  side  were  carnal,  unfeeling, 
and  insincere,  on  the  spiritual  side  shallow,  skeptical,  and 
materialistic,- — while  it  partially  satisfied  his  intellect,  failed 
to  satisfy  his  emotional  needs  and  the  finer  part  of  his  spirit. 
Measured  by  the  standard  of  both  earlier  and  later  times, 
the -1 8th  century  was  irreligious  ;  Burns  was  formed  to  be  a 
deeply  religious  man.  His  nature  seemed  to  demand  the 
closest  relations  with  Deity,  and,  finding  in  the  temples  no 
God,  but  only  a  formula  or  else  a  monster,  he  broke  into 
importunate  beseechings,  like  a  child  crying  for  its  absent 
father.  His  spiritual  disappointment  reacted  with  a  violence 
that  overwhelmed  him  with  doubts,  and  threatened  even  to 
shake  his  foundations.  At  times,  like  Hamlet,  he  almost 
vainly  tried  to  believe  that  the  soul  was  "a  thing  immortal," 
while  he  half  mistrusted  that  death  might  be  "a  quietus." 
On  other  articles  of  common  Christian  belief  he  showed  less 
of  creed  faith  than  of  the  faith  that  lies  in  "honest  doubt." 
But  through  all  his  darkness  and  conflict  he  clung  to  faith 
in  God,  and,  as  he  never  spoke  otherwise  than  reverently  of 


Ixxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

things  truly  sacred,  so  he  ever  upheld  the  value  of  sincere 
religion.-^  If  by  religion  we  mean  an  inspiring  and  sustain- 
ing sense  of  close  personal  alliance  with  God,  we  do  not 
find  Burns  possessed,  to  the  annihilation  of  uncertainty,  of 
an  absorbing  trust  of  this  kind.  But  this  defect  of  his 
religion  belonged  to  the  age  in  which  he  had  to  work  out 
his  own  salvation.  He  came  at  the  close  of  an  era  of  mun- 
dane skepticism,  when  the  new  era  of  spiritual  insight  was 
only  beginning  to  dawn.  He  fretted  for  what  was  not.  To 
him,  as  to  Hamlet,  the  time  was  out  of  joint,  and  the  spite 
was  that  he  was  one  of  those  "  born  to  put  it  right." 

The  post-revolutionary  era  has  formed  a  different  concep- 
tion of  God,  and  has  given  a  larger  content  to  the  idea  of 
religion,  and  the  influences  that  produced  this  renovation 
were  primarily  those  which  found  one  of  their  earliest  and 
most  substantial  embodiments  in  Burns  and  Burns's  work. 
It  is  the  function  of  men  of  his  type  to  act  as  regenerative 
forces  ;  they  sink  the  plow  and  bring  up  the  world's  sub- 
soil. Even  in  that  materialistic  and  superstitious  age  Burns 
had  a  strong  intuition  of  the  spiritual  forces  that  inform  and 
control  the  material  universe, —  that  which  later  became  the 
poetic  sense  of  God  in  Nature.  He  had  likewise,  in  spite 
of  personal  waywardness,  an  unfailing  realization  of  alle- 
giance to  the  forces  that  make  for  righteousness  and  perma- 
nence in  human  life,  —  that  which  later  became  the  religion 
of  humanity.  A  few  months  before  he  died  he  hailed  with 
delight  Cowper's  Task,  and  recognized  its  new  and  kindred 
spirit,  "bating  a  few  scraps  of  Calvinistic  divinity,"  as  "the 
religion  of  God  and  nature,  the  religion  that  ennobles  man."^ 

1  His  letters  on  this  subject  form  one  of  the  most  pathetic  chapters 
in  all  spiritual  autobiography.  See  especially  To  James  Candlish,  Mar.  21, 
1787  ;  To  Mrs.  Dittilop,  Feb.  12,  1788,  June  21,  Sept.  6,  and  Dec.  13, 
1789  ;  and  To  Cunningham,  Feb.  14,  1790,  Aug.  22,  1792,  and  Feb.  25, 
1794.  2  Letter  To  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Dec.  25,  1795. 


introduction:  Ixxv 

And   this   side   of  his  religion   is   summed  up  in  his  own 

words : 

The  heart  benevolent  and  kind 
The  most  resembles  God. 

(f)  Art  and  Ethic. 

Since  art  implies  a  subjective  process  as  well  as  an  objec- 
tive result,  it  is  inevitable  that  the  artistic  product  should 
take  not  only  its  tone  and  color  but  its  essential  meaning 
and  value  from  the  character  of  the  artist's  mind.  This  is 
what  we  mean  by  y]Qo%,  or  ethical  quality,  and  this  ethic 
is  the  element  which  gives  the  artistic  product  its  ultimate 
worth  as  a  life-giving  or  life-perverting  power,  whether  the 
artist  wills  it  or  not.  Any  phase  of  weakness  or  disease  in 
the  artist's  mind  will  as  surely  reveal  itself  in  the  art  he  pro- 
duces, as  health,  strength,  and  sympathy  with  all  things 
good  and  sound  will  serve  to  make  his  work  a  human  restor- 
ative and  invigorant.  Art  absolutely  void  of  this  ethical 
quality  does  not  exist,  for  this  would  mean  that  neither  the 
art  product  nor  the  artist  nor  the  life  he  seeks  to  portray  had 
any  character  at  all. 

The  humblest  and  least  artistic  way  in  which  this  ethic 
reveals  itself  is  that  of  direct  moral  teaching,  and  for  a  poet 
Burns  has  an  unusual  amount  of  this  kind  of  material.  Con- 
spicuous among  poems  with  this  direct  moral  bearing  are 
the  Address  to  the  Unco  Guid,  A  Bard's  Epitaph,  and 
Epistle  to  a  Young  Frietidi  Closely  akin  to  these  are  poems 
of  a  moralistic  turn,  like  Friar's  Carse  Hermitage.  To  the 
same  tendency  belongs  that  strain  of  moralizing  in  which  he 
loves  to  indulge  in  his  work  in  general,  as  in  Man  was  Made 
to  Afoum,  some  of  the  Epistles,  the  Cotter,  the  closing 
stanzas  of  the  Daisy  and  the  Mouse,  the  purple  patch  on 
Tarn  o'  Shanter.  In  this  he  merely  followed  a  fashion  preva- 
lent in  i8th  century  literature;  but,  while  the  i8th  century  set 


Ixxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

him  the  example,  the  quality  of  his  ethical  reflection  takes 
us  beyond  the  moralism  of  "an  understanding  age  "  to  the 
root  wisdom  of  mankind.     No  previous  moralist  taught  him, 

But,  mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane, 
or 

O  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  ithers  see  us. 

This  is  the  kind  of  common  sense  that  amounts  to  an 
inspired  revelation.  It  belongs  to  the  seer  who  is  also  an 
artist.  No  poet  was  ever  more  richly  endowed  than  Burns 
with  this  faculty  of  smelting  the  common  ore  of  everyday 
experience.  Even  in  poems  where  the  theme  offers  no  high 
material  for  poetry,  like  the  Unco  Guid  and  the  Epistle  to  a 
Young  Friend,  he  brings  such  a  force  of  sagacity  to  bear 
upon  them,  and  so  intimately  reveals  the  eternal  principles 
of  conduct  running  through  the  mixed  and  drossy  ore  of 
human  life,  that  almost  every  stanza  affords  some  aphorism 
which  has  passed  into  our  daily  currency  as  standard  coin. 

The  positive  content  of  his  ethic  reveals  itself,  first  of  all, 
in  the  preeminent  humaneness  of  his  outlook,  shown  in  his 
tenderness  for  the  lower  animals,  his  sympathy  with  the  toil- 
ing poor,  his  compassion  for  the  sorrowing  and  suffering, 
his  beautiful  niisericordia.  Even  where  the  springs  of  pity 
are  untouched,  this  loving  kindness  of  nature  is  equally  rich 
and  full  in  his  interpretation  of  the  friendly  and  domestic 
affections.  The  ethic  of  friendship  has  never  been  more 
variously  or  feelingly  portrayed  than  by  Burns,  from  the 
mere  bacchanalian  good-fellowship  of  Willie  Brewed  a  Peck 
o'  Maut  through  the  whole  gamut  of  the  Epistles  to  the 
imperishable  bonds  of  Auld  Lang  Syne.  The  ethic  of  the 
home  receives  from  him  its  consummate  idealization,  whether 
it  be  in  the  lyric  devotion  oijohn  Anderson  my  Jo,  or  in  the 
domestic  picture  of  the   Cotter  with    its    proud   reflection : 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxvii 

and  the  noble  invocation  with  which  the  poem  closes  ;  or 
where  he  says  more  personally  : 

To  mak  a  happy  fireside  clime 

For  weans  an'  wife, 
That 's  the  true  pathos  an'  sublime 

O'  human  life. 

There  the  ethic  is  of  the  richest  substance  of  human  nature. 
More  broadly  considered,  the  content  of  this  positive  ethic 
consists  in  his  regard  for  the  simple  but  eternal  qualities 
that  beautify  and  ennoble  character,  —  truth,  sincerity,  frank- 
ness, magnanimity,  loving-kindness.  These  are  simple  quali- 
ties, but  they  assume  a  fresh  value  in  Burns's  work  from  the 
intensity  and  force  with  which  he  exhibits  them.  From  the 
reverse  side  they  are  especially  intensified  by  his  wither- 
ing hatred  for  every  form  of  human  meanness.  Hypocrisy, 
in  particular,  whether  religious  or  social,  was  never  so 
blasted  by  fire  from  heaven  as  it  was  by  the  author  of  Holy 
Willie's  Prayer  and  the  Address  to  the  Unco  Giiid.  Other 
perversions  of  character  are  not  so  much  held  up  to  obloquy 
as  swept  beyond  the  horizon  by  the  strong  breeze  of  his 
healthy  genius.  If  at  times  he  exaggerates  the  negative 
emphasis,  the  positive  qualities  of  his  ethic  will  nevertheless 
be  found,  taken  all  in  all,  to  embody  an  exacting  ideal  of 
right,  which,  in  spite  of  pitiful  confessions  of  failure,  domi- 
nates both  his  personal  character  and  his  artistic  work. 

What  gives  these  ethical  elements  their  especial  force  is 
the  intense  individualism  of  the  man's  nature.  Burns  was 
not  imbued  with  the  philosophic  individualism  into  the 
"  dust  and  powder  "  of  which  Burke,  at  a  later  time,  dreaded 
lest  the  French  Revolution  should  reduce  the  fabric  of 
society.  But  the  revolutionary  idea  is  perceptible  in  his 
paramount  accentuation  of  the  claims  of  individual  worth, 
and  especially  in  his  aggressive  and  sometimes  defiant  asser- 


Ixxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

tion  of  independence.  This  is  not  merely  the  worldly  inde- 
pendence of  the  Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend.^  in  which  he 
recommends  "  gatherin  gear  by  every  wile  that's  justified 
by  honor."  Rather  it  is  the  self-confident,  self-respecting 
"  pride  of  worth  "  that  is  combined  with  "  pith  o'  sense  "  in 
A  Man  ^s  a  Man ;  the  sentiment  which  animated  him  on  his 
meeting  with  Lord  Daer  ;  which  made  him,  when  he  con- 
fronted the  dazzle  of  human  dignities  in  Edinburgh,  sing  in 

his  heart : 

The  man  of  independent  mind, 
He  looks  an'  laughs  at  a'  that; 

which  enabled  him  during  his  dismal  years  of  toil  on  the 
farm  and  in  the  excise  to  "  bear  himself  like  a  king  in  exile." 
In  this  regard  his  organic  sentiment,  to  apply  the  words  of 
Emerson,  is  that  of  absolute  independence  resting  on  a  life 
of  labor.  He  does  not  preach  labor  as  a  gospel,  he  simply 
accepts  it  as  a  fact.  But  he  glorifies  that  fact.  Even  round 
the  most  sordid  poverty  and  drudgery  in  the  Twa  Dogs  he 
creates  an  atmosphere  of  ethical  dignity  and  beauty  when 
he  unfolds  the  cotter's  scenes  of  joy  and  homely  heroism. 
Thus  his  ethic  of  independence  takes  a  firmer  body  from  the 
reality  of  labor  on  which  it  rests.  It  becomes  the  self- 
reliance  which  is  a  spiritual  resource.  It  gives  him  the 
most  substantial  basis  for  his  "criticism  of  life,"  and  is  at 
the  same  time  his  keenest  inspiration.  All  his  expressly 
ethical  work,  the  matter  of  which  is  often  scarcely  poetical 
at  all,  takes  its  higher  value  from  his  clear  recognition  of 
what  constitutes  human  worth  and  his  allegiance  to  the 
essential  nobility  of  man.  All  the  more  detailed  elements 
of  his  ethic  become,  as  it  were,  focussed  in  this,  and  receive 
such  energy  from  the  glowing  mass  of  the  poet's  individ- 
uality that  Burns  is  one  of  the  strongest  ethical  forces  in 
English  literature. 

In  its  highest  sense,  however,  this  ethic  belongs  to  his  art, 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxix 

and  is  especially  that  which  makes  his  artistic  work  a  pos- 
session for  all  time.  It  is  not  "  unfair  "  — pace  Carlyle  — 
to  "  test  him  by  the  rules  of  art."  It  is  true  he  "never  once 
was  permitted  to  grapple  with  any  subject  with  the  full  col- 
lection of  his  strength."  True,  he  never  exercised  his 
powers  on  the  large  scale  of  Sophocles  or  of  Shakspere. 
But  even  in  his  most  trivial  work  he  showed  the  same 
artistic  instinct  for  unity  of  conception,  singleness  of  impres- 
sion, beauty  and  coherence  of  detail.  Not  only  had  he  the 
fertility  of  creative  resource  which  made  him  produce  with 
the  ready  responsiveness  of  Nature  when  seeds  are  cast  into 
her  lap  ;  but  his  critical  remarks  on  his  songs,  many  of  which 
are  models  of  perfect  art,  show  that  he  worked  towards  this 
perfection  with  the  sedulous  care  of  Nature  when  she  moulds 
the  frond  of  the  fern  or  the  blossom  on  the  rose  tree.  His 
best  poems  reveal  the  same  singleness  amid  variety  of  con- 
ception working  out  towards  beauty  of  form  and  finish.  His 
language  always  indicates  the  ease,  and  commonly  the  grace, 
of  perfect  artistic  mastery.  The  art  criticism  which  he 
inherited  was  merely  external  and  availed  him  little.  In 
production  he  simply  obeyed  the  creative  intelligence  of  his 
mind.  Art  of  this  kind  is  the  analogue  of  the  work  of 
nature  ;  the  art  itself  is  nature,  for  the  creative  instinct  of 
the  artist  is  a  mode  of  the  formative  force  of  the  universe, 
which  culminates  in  organic  life  and  operates  by  intelligent 
design.  This  intelligence  and  this  vitality  are  sovereign 
characteristics  which  give  the  creative  art  of  Burns  its  per- 
manent strength.  Amid  all  the  turmoil  of  his  emotions  his 
intellect  reigns  supreme.  He  never  works  with  uncertain 
or  aimless  activity.  In  him,  as  in  nature,  we  find  imperfec- 
tions and  irregularities,  but  these  cease  to  be  of  vital  account 
when  the  whole  makes  for  healthy  vitality. 

The  art  ethic  of  Burns's  work,   then,    lies    in  his   clear 
apprehension   and   strong  embodiment    of  the  forces   that 


Ixxx  INTRODUCTION. 

make  for  vitality,    preservation,  permanence.     As    regards 
his  own  life,  we  know  only  too  well  that  he  often  "  passed 
douce  Wisdom's  door  for  glaikit  Folly's  portals,"  and  left  a 
record  which  has  been  a  favorite  pacing  ground  for  theat- 
rical moralists.     He   has   told  us  all  about   it  in   his  own 
words,  passed  his  own  verdict  on  his  failings,  and  character- 
ized both  kindly  and  viciously  all  his  censors,  who  have 
done  little  more  than  avail  themselves  of  his  confessions. 
The  Bard's  Epitaph  is  a  moral  judgment  on  his  own  life 
that  in  its  simple  solemnity  and  pathetic  candor  outweighs 
all  the  homilies  ever  preached  upon  it.     So  far  as  concerns 
his  occasional  coarseness  and  love  of  a  laugh  broader  than 
is  permitted  in  a  drawing-room,  these  are  qualities  he  shares 
with    Chaucer,    Shakspere,  and    others   whose    wholesome- 
ness   is   no   more   called   in  question   than  their  greatness. 
These  incidental  qualities,  which  can  easily  be  ignored,  do 
not  affect  the  essential  value  of  his  poetic  work.     In  the 
substance  of  this  work  we  find  the  ethical  vigor  and  salubrity 
that  come  of  the  sound  mental  constitution  and  the  healthy 
outlook  on  life.     Barring  a  few  spiteful  but  well-provoked 
epigrams,  his  view  is  always  magnanimous  and  humane,  his 
insight  always  true,  his  utterance  always  sincere.     His  heart 
is  always  right.     Above  all  things,  he  is  preeminently  sane. 
He  has  left  somewhat  that  we  can  well  afford  to  ignore,  but, 
even  if  we  include  the  whole,  few  poets  are  so  conspicuously 
free  from  all  forms  of  literary  disease  as  he.     In  days  when 
art  cant  is  not  less  prevalent  than  corrupt  art,  it  is  good  to 
go  out  into  the  fresh  and  tonic  air  of  a  genius  like  Burns. 
It  may  bring  with  it  a  whiff  of  other  odors  besides  those  of 
the  wild  flowers  and  the  new-plowed  land,  but  there  can  be 
no  doubt  about  its  healthfulness    and    invigorating   effect. 
If  we  encounter  country  freshness,  we  never  run  across  any- 
thing sickly,  and  whatever  is  amiss  or  redundant  comes  of 
a  surplus  of  health  and  an  exuberant  vitality. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxi 

As  for  his  fame,  Burns  is  sufficiently  well  established 
among  civilized  peoples  as  one  of  the  great  singers  of  human- 
ity. This  triumph  belongs  to  the  artist,  not  to  the  moralist ; 
but  it  is  the  artist  who  has  so  far  felt  and  understood  the 
forces  that  make  for  permanence  that  his  interpretation  of 
them  embodies  a  sound  and  universal  ethic.  With  him,  as 
with  the  great  artists  of  the  race  from  Homer  down,  art  and 
ethic  are  one  and  indivisible.  The  art  ethic  is  the  world 
ethic.  It  is  the  vital  force  of  nature  which  builds  to  resist 
or  to  correct  decay,  whether  in  physical  life  or  in  the  social 
organism.  We  have  seen  how  Burns  caught  the  organic 
impulse  of  the  new  time  that  was  making  for  the  regenera- 
tion of  society.  First  among  modern  men  of  great  power, 
he  gave  this  impulse  artistic  utterance,  and,  though  the 
doctrine  of  development  was  to  him  unknown,  made  his  art 
the  medium  for  helping  on  "  the  relief  of  man's  estate."  In 
this  sense,  even  more  than  in  point  of  mere  sympathetic 
interest,  he  always  keeps  close  to  humanity.  His  interpre- 
tation of  his  art  is  that  which  sees  in  poetry  a  human  restor- 
ative and  help,  and  hence  he  has  none  of  the  indifference  of 
spurious  "art  for  art's  sake."  Nor,  for  the  same  reason, 
has  he  any  of  the  beauty  of  decadence.  His  art,  like 
nature's  normal  self,  derives  its  strength  and  beauty  from 
the  energy  of  healthy  life.  It  is  this  which  gives  it  glow, 
elasticity,  and  firmness ;  this  which  makes  it  salutary  and 
good  to  look  upon.  Much,  therefore,  as  the  moralist  may 
prize  the  more  obvious  and  positive  content  of  his  ethical 
teaching,  his  steadfast  alliance  with  justice,  truth,  kindness, 
and  other  forces  that  bind  society  together,  what  gives  his 
art  its  richest  human  value  is,  above  all,  this  unconscious 
ethic,  which  rests  in  the  freshness  of  his  health,  in  the  frank 
and  benign  sincerity  of  his  outlook,  in  the  life  joy  and  life 
courage  that  make  his  poetry  a  perpetual  fountain  of  reju- 
venation, —  the  livsmod  and  livsglcEde  that  cheered  alike  in 


Ixxxii 


INTR  OD  UC  TION. 


victory  and  defeat  the  Vikings,  whose  blood  doubtless  ran  in 
his  veins.  It  was  this  which  sustained  him  in  the  misery  of 
his  own  life,  and  this  he  has  embodied  in  his  work  with  a 
puissance  of  intellect,  a  winning  grace  of  wit  and  humor, 
and  a  veracity  and  firmness  of  both  substance  and  style 
that  give  him  just  claim  to  sit  among  the  permanently  great 
and  beneficent  spirits  of  the  human  race. 


I 


APPENDICES. 


I.    PRONUNCIATION. 

The  spelling  of  Scotch  words,  as  they  appear  in  Burns's  poems 
and  elsewhere,  is  only  an  awkward  makeshift  for  the  representa- 
tion of  the  living  sounds  as  these  are  heard  from  the  lips  of  the 
people.  There  is  no  authoritative  spelling,  because  the  language 
has  not  received  fixity  in  this  respect  from  written  usage.  The 
written  usage  of  the  country  is  English,  and  in  the  representation 
of  Scotch  sounds  the  written  equivalents  are  employed  with  their 
approximate  English  values.  But  most  of  the  vowel  sounds,  and 
many  of  the  consonants,  do  not  correspond  with  those  of  English  ; 
hence  there  is  a  great  discrepancy  between  Burns  as  he  appears 
in  print  and  Burns  as  he  is  read  by  a  native.  Add  to  this  that 
Burns  was  affected  by  the  process  of  Anglicizing  which  had  been 
going  on  for  three  hundred  years,  and  largely  accommodated  his 
Scotch  to  English  forms.  This  will  easily  be  seen  from  a  glance 
at  his  rhymes  ;  in  many  cases  the  English  pronunciation  will  give 
no  rhyme  at  all,  the  Scotch,  a  perfect  rhyme. 

This  accommodation  to  English  forms  is  thus  misleading.  In 
general,  the  sounds  of  Lowland  Scotch  bear  a  much  closer  resem- 
blance to  those  of  Old  Norse  and  modern  Norwegian  (frequently 
in  its  dialectic  forms)  than  they  bear  to  English.  High  German 
likewise  offers  an  approximation,  but  here  greater  caution  is  nec- 
essary. Care  should  especially  be  taken  not  to  mince  the  conso- 
nants nor  to  thin  away  the  vowel  sounds  or  give  them  the  gliding 
or  vanishing  quality  they  have  in  English. 

Vowel  Sounds : 

A.  This  vowel  is  the  shibboleth  which  distinguishes  the  two 
great  divisions  of  dialectic  accents  in   Lowland  Scotland,  —  those 


Ixxxiv  APPENDICES. 

north  of  the  river  Tay,  in  which  a  has  the  broad,  open  sound  of 
Eng.  '  ah,'  and  those  south  of  the  Tay  and  towards  the  west,  in 
which  the  prevaiUng  a  sound  is  closer,  like  Eng.  '  awe.' 

1.  a  is  sounded  like  Eng.  a  in  'far.'  It  may  be  long,  as  in 
warld,  or  short,  as  in  brak. 

(a)  This  sound  is  also  deepened  into  that  of  Eng.  a  in  '  fall,' 
in  which  case  it  is  usually  represented  by  ati.  It  may  be  long,  as 
waur,  awa,  or  short,  as  mauti,  hand. 

2.  It  has  also  a  sound  similar  to  Fr.  t\  as  in  'pere';  e.g., 
wale,  drave.  This  sound  is  frequently  represented  by  ai:  as  aisle, 
haivers,  jnair. 

(a)  This,  too,  is  sharpened  into  something  between  Eng.  a  in 
'bane'  and  ^  in  'be'  :  as  Jiame,  lanely.  In  this  value  it  is  fre- 
quently represented  by  other  symbols  :  as  ae  in  sae,  claes  j  ea  in 
mear,  bear  (barley),  hearse  (hoarse)  ;  or  light  ai  in  aits,  claith. 

Sc.  a  has  no  value  corresponding  to  Eng.  a  in  '  man.' 

E.     This  has  two  main  values  : 

1.  Short,  almost  like  Eng.  e  in  '  then,'  but  slightly  more  open  : 
as  het,  blether. 

2.  Long,  like  Eng.  e  in  '  be.'  This  is  not  a  characteristically 
Scotch  value  ;  it  is  oftenest  represented  by  ee,  as  in  iveel,  or  by 
ie  or  ei,  as  in  deil,  niest,  spier. 

I,  Y.  These  two  have  nearly  the  same  values  ;  they  used  to 
be  interchangeable. 

1 .  The  prevailing  sound  is  nearly  the  same  as  Eng.  e  in  '  her ' 
or  i  in  '  bird '  :  as  rin,  hing.  Frequently  a  ti  quality  predomi- 
nates ;  e.g.,  Sc.  will  is  pronounced  w»ll. 

2.  In  a  few  words  it  has  a  sound  nearly  like  Eng.  i  in  '  pin '  : 
as  mither,  thegither,  brither  (the  spelling  brother  is  to  be  so 
pronounced). 

3.  Its  diphthongal  quality  is  usually  much  sharper  than  in 
English,  and  corresponds  to  Norw.  ei  (especially  in  the  Norwegian 
dialects),  i.e.,  a  rapid  combination  of  Eng.  a  in  '  fate '  and  ee  in 
'fee";  e.g.,  whyles,  skyte,  /;//«</ (pronounced  meynd ;  see  EY). 

(a)  Occasionally  it  corresponds  to  Eng.  /  in  '  tire  '  ;  e.g.,  byre, 
kye. 


APPENDICES.        '  Ixxxv 

Final  y  or  ie  has  the  same  light  sound  as  in  English  ;  e.g., 
bonny,  bonie. 

0.  This  vowel  has  practically  only  one  value  in  Scotch,  that 
of  Eng.  o  in  '  horde';  cf.  Fr.  6  in  'hote.'  It  may  be  long,  as  in 
lord,  morn,  or  short,  as  in  bonie,  gotten  ;  but  its  quality  should 
remain  the  same. 

Most  of  the  open  Eng.  o  sounds  are  to  be  pronounced  in  this 
way.     Sc.  o  has  no  value  like  Eng.  o  in  '  hot.' 

U.     Two  main  values  : 

1 .  A  light,  open  sound  similar  to  Eng.  71  in  '  bun,'  with  a  shght 
suggestion  of  an  <?  :  as  busk,  scunner. 

2.  A  variety  of  modifications  shifting  from  Norw.  _y  to  0,  Ger. 
jl  to  0,  or  Fr.  7c  (in  tu)  to  eu  (in  peur)  :  z&fule,  blude,  sune. 
This  sound  is  frequently  represented  by  ui,  as  guid,  or  by  00,  as 
aboon,  broo. 

AE,  AI  have  the  sound  of  A,  2  :  as  gae  (gave),  ain  ;  or  A,  2 
(a)  :  Ti'i,  gae  (go),  thae,  raible. 

EI,  IE  have  the  sound  of  E,  2  :  2A  gie,Jietit,  abeigh. 

EY  has  the  sound  of  I,  3  :  as  gley,  eydcnt. 

00  has  regularly  the  sound  of  U,  2  :  as  aboon,  dool,  snool. 
English  words  spelled  with  00  take  this  pronunciation  :  as  '  moon,' 
'  fool.' 

OU  has  the  regular  sound  of  Fr.  ou  or  Eng.  00  :  3s,fou,  toun^ 
count. 

UI.     Same  as  U,  2  :  as  bluid  (also  written  blude  ;  cf.  00). 

Consonants : 

The  only  consonants  requiring  attention  are  : 

1.  H,  which,  except  when  silent  in  English  words  like  'honor,' 
is  always  strongly  aspirated. 

2.  R,  which  always  takes  the  strong  Norwegian  roll  with  the 
tip  of  the  tongue  (entirely  different  from  the  uvular  Ger.  and 
Dan.  r).  Before  other  liquids  this  roll  often  gives  an  extra 
syllable  :  as 

Till  bairns'  bairns  kindly  cuddle. 


Ixxxvi  APPENDICES. 

3.  NG,  which  never  takes  the  compound  ng-g  value  it  has  in 
Eng.  '  anger,'  but  is  sounded  simply,  as  in  Norw.  and  Ger.  ;  e.g., 
httfig-er,  lang-er. 

4.  CH,  GH.  Always  strongly  aspirated  as  gutturals  ;  e.g., 
laigh,  nicht,  brought  (pronounced  brocht),  rough  (pronounced 
roch). 

Terminations  : 

1 .  ED  is  always  pronounced  //  or  et,  and  is  often  so  spelled. 

2.  ING  always  reverts  in  pronunciation  to  its  ancient  form  -and, 
of  which  the  d  is  silent  as  in  Norw.  inand. 

3.  URE  is  pronounced  as  if  it  were  -ur  ;  Q.g.,  picture. 

II.     GRAMMAR. 

The  grammar  of  Lowland  Scotch  presents  many  peculiarities 
and  anomalies.  It  is  not  always  amenable  to  rule,  and  has  the 
freedom  and  looseness  of  a  speech  not  yet  fixed  by  literary  usage. 
The  following  notes  merely  treat  of  such  variations  from  English 
usage  occurring  in  Burns  as  might  puzzle  the  English  student.^ 

Nouns : 

1.  Subject.  (a)  Frequently  the  subject  is  mentioned  in  an  ab- 
solute construction  and  then  repeated  in  the  form  of  a  pronoun  :  as 

The  lightly-jumpin  glowrin  trouts  .  .  . 
They  're  left,  etc.     (B.  IV.,  9). 

2.  Object.  (a)  It  is  common  to  anticipate  the  object  of  a 
statement  by  placing  it  first  in  absolute  construction,  and  then 
repeating  it  as  a  pronoun  :  as 

The  coward  slave,  we  pass  Mm  by.   {A  Man  'j  a  Man,  3.) 

Kpint  an'  gill,  I  'd  gie  them  baith.     {Ep.  J.  L.,  41.) 

An'  her  ainyf/,  it  brunt  it.     (//.,  78.) 

My  helpless  lambs,  I  trust  them  wi'  him.     (P.  M.,  28.) 

1  For  an  account  of  historical  Scotch  grammar,  see  Dr.  J.  A.  H.  Murray's 
Dialect  of  the  SoiUhern  Cotaiiies  of  Scotland,  pp.  150-230. 


APPENDICES.  Ixxxvii 

The geniles,  ye  wad  ne'er  envy  Vw.     (T.  D.,  190.) 

For  my  last/bu, 

A  heapit  stimpart,  I  '11  reserve  ane.     (Af.  M.,  100.) 

(d)    The  same  often    happens    when    the    noun  would  be  the 
object  of  a  preposition  ;  i.e.,  the  preposition  and  pronoun  follow  :  as 
Gin  ye  '11  go  there,  yon  runkled  pair, 
We  '11  get  some  famous  laughin 

A^  them  this  day.     (7/.  F.,  43.) 

{c)  Frequently  a  noun  is  loosely  thrown  in  as  an  absolute 
objective  where  we  should  expect  a  preposition  or  governing  verb, 
but  there  is  none  :  as 

But  Mauchline  race  or  Mauchline  Fair, 

I  should  be  proud  to  meet  you  there.     {Ep.J.  Z.,  97.) 

We  are  na  fou,  we  're  no  that  fou 

But  just  a  drappie  in  our  ee.     {Willie  Brewed,  6.") 

Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 

Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither.     {T.  Sh.,  187.) 

My  Nanie's  charming,  sweet,  an'  young  ; 

Nae  artfu'  wiles  to  win  ye,  O.     {My  Nanie,  O,  9.) 
Ye  maist  wad  think,  a  wee  touch  langer 
And  they  maun  starve  o'  cauld  and  hunger.     {T.  D.,  81.) 

I  .  .  .  would  here  propone  defences  — 

Their  donsie  tricks,  their  black  mistakes.     {U.  G.,  15.) 

3.  Possessive.       (a)    The  sign  's  is  sometimes  omitted  :  as 

Wi'  arm  reposed  on  the  chair  back.     (H.  F.,  95.) 

{b)    Sometimes,  instead  of  the  possessive  form,  the  noun  is  put 
down  absolutely,  and  a  possessive  pronoun  follows :  as 
The  harpy,  hoodock,  purse-proud  race  .  .  . 
Their  tuneless  hearts.     {Ep.  M.  L.,  38.) 

4.  The  irregularity  is  sometimes  greater  than  in  any  of  the 
above  cases.  A  noun  or  pronoun  occurs  out  of  all  construction  ; 
i.e.,  it  is  merely  thrown  in  and  the  construction  changed  according 
to  sense :  as 


Ixxxviii  APPENDICES. 

Its  stature  seemed  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 

The  queerest  shape  that  e'er  I  saw.     {D.  D.  H.,  38.) 

Even /<?//,  on  murderin  errands  toiled  .  .  . 
The  blood-stained  roost  and  sheep-cot  spoiled 

My  heart  forgets.     {W.  N.,  25.) 

Pronouns : 

1.  Pe?-sonal.  (a)  Me,  thee,  and /«';«,  are  sometimes  used  as 
subjects.  Scotch  usage  is  greatly  affected  by  French  here ;  c£, 
the  French  use  of  moi,  ioi,  lui :  as 

Scotland  an'  tne  'j'  in  great  afBiction.     (^E.  C.  P.,  14.) 

But  gin  ye  be  a  brig  as  auld  as  tne.     (5.  A.,  69.) 

The  smith  an'  thee  gat  roarin  fou  on.     (7".  Sh.,  26.) 

There,  him  at  Agincourt  wha  shone 
Few  better  were  or  braver.     (^A  Dr.,  95.) 

/for  me  in  Ep.  D.,  102,  is  merely  a  solecism. 

(^)    Ye  as  object  is  very  common  :  as 

Hail,  Majesty  most  Excellent ! 

While  nobles  strive  to  please  j^.     {A  Dr.,  73-81.) 

2.  Relative.  (a)  Often  omitted  as  subject.  This  ellipsis  is 
found  also  in  Middle  English  (the  omission  of  the  relative  as  object 
is  regular,  and  in  accord  with  English  usage)  :  as 

To  stop  those  reckless  vows 

^  Would  soon  been  broken.     (  K,  54.) 

An'  gied  the  infant  warld  a  shog 
^  Maist  ruined  a'.     (Z>.,  89). 

Or  like  the  snow  j\^  falls  in  the  river, 

A  moment  white  —  then  melts  for  ever.     (7".  Sh.,  6i.) 

Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth, 

y^  Points  to  the  parents.     (C.  .5".  TV.,  87.) 

Forms  ^  might  be  worshipped  on  the  bended  knee.     (B. 

A.,  115.) 
There  's  men  o'  taste  /^  wad  tak  the  Ducat-stream.    (B.A., 

79') 


I 


APPENDICES.  Ixxxix 

ib)    That  for  '  to  which '  :  as 

Fancies  that  our  good  Brugh  denies  protection.    {B.  A., 
124.) 

3.  Possessive.      //^?i- is  often  curtailed  into 'i' :  as 

Whare  drucken  Charlie  brak  V  neck-bane.     (T.  S/i.,  92.) 
Labour  sair  At  'j  weary  toil.     (S.  D.,  34.) 

4.  Reflexive.       Oursel,  themsel,  ior  'ourselves,'  '  themselves' : 

as 

That  e'er  he  nearer  comes  oursel.     (Z>.  D.  H.,  11.) 

Till  they  be  fit  to  fend  themsel.     {P.  M.,  32.) 

5.  Reciprocal.      It  her  for  '  each  other  '  :  as 

We  've  been  owre  lang  unken'd  to  ither.     {Ep.  W.  S.^  98.) 
But  hear  their  absent  thoughts  o'  ither.     {T.  D.,  221.) 

6.  Demonstratives.      The  plural  of  this  is  thir ;  of  that,  thae. 
Yon  is  frequently  used  for  that,  those  :  as 

Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair.     {T.  Sh.,  155.) 

Quo'  I,  '  if  that  thae  news  be  true  ! '     {D.  D.  H.,  134.) 

Yon  runkled  pair.     {H.  F.,  43.) 

Adjectives  : 

1 .  Almost  any  adjective  may  be  used  as  an  adverb :  as 

Can  easy  wi'  a  single  wordie 

Lovvse  hell  upon  me.     {Ep.  McM.,  1 7.) 

My  awkward  muse  sair  pleads  an  begs.    {Ep.  L.  [11],  1 1.) 

To  right  or  left  eternal  swervin.     {Ep.  J.  S.,  in.) 

When  ^^^TAjz-dragged  wi'  pine  an'  grievin.     {S.  D.,  27.) 

2.  Comparisoti.     After    comparatives,    nor   is  often   used  for 
than :  as 

Waur  nor  their  nonsense.     {Ep.  McM.,  24.) 

Verbs  : 

I .   Indicative  Present.     The  Anglian  s  forms  prevail :  as 
An  anxious  ee  I  never  throwj'.     {Ep.  J.  S.,  145.) 


XC  APPENDICES. 

Thou  clears  the  heid  o'  doitit  Lear,     {S.  Z>.,  3 1.) 

Unseen  thou  lurkx.     (Z?.,  24.) 

Thou  liftJ  thy  unassuming  head.     {M.  D.,  27.) 

Yarrow  an'  Tweed  to  mony  a  tune 

Owre  Scotland  rings.     {Ep.   W.  S.^  45.) 

2.  Indicative  Past.     No  inflection  in  second  singular  :  as 

Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  Jiad  siller.     (  T.  Sh.,  24.) 

Thou  never  braing't  an'  fetch't  an'  fliskit.     {M.  M.,  Sy.) 

Thou  never  lap.     (M.  M.,  81.) 

Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  an'  waste.     {M.,  25.) 

3.  Indicative  Future.       Besides  the  usual  shall  and  will  form 
this  takes  a  peculiar  form  in  ''se :  as 

I  ''se  no  insist.     (£p.  J-  L.,  88.) 

I  'se  ne'er  bid  better.     {Ep.  M.  L.,  48). 

We  ''se  hae  fine  remarkin.      {H.  E.,  49.) 

The  shall  or  wz7/  form  takes  no  inflection  in  the  second  singular : 

as 

Ah,  Tam!  thou '//get  thy  fairin.     {T.  Sh.,  201.)  < 

Thou '// break  my  heart,  thou  bonie  bird.    {Bonie  Doon,  5.) 

4.  Compound  tenses  with  '  have.''      Could,  would,  and  should 

have  very  frequently  omit  the  have  (a  common  Norwegian  usage)  : 

as  I 

Kyle-Stewart  I  could  y^  bragged  wide.     {M.  M.,  35.)  I 

He  should  ,^  been  tight  that  .  .  .     {M.  M.,  11.) 

Till  spritty  knowes  wad  f^  rair't  an  risket.     {M.  M.,  71.) 

Those  reckless  vows  would  soon  y^  been  broken.    {V.,  54.) 

And  would  to  Common  Sense  for  once  f,^  betrayed  them. 

{B.  A.,  167.)  i 

Ye  wad  na  f^  been  sae  shy.     (O  Tibbie,  2.) 

The  wind  blew  as  't  wad  f^  blawn  its  last.     {T.  Sh.,  73.) 
Ye  'd  better  ^  taen  up  spades  and  shools.  {Ep.J.  L.  [I],  6$.) 

The  tythe  o'  what  ye  waste  at  cartes 

Wad  f^  stow'd  his  pantry.     {Ep.  IV.  S.,  24.) 


APPENDICES.  xci 

5.  Infinitive.  The  infinitive  often  takes  '  for  to,'  as  in  Middle 
English :  as 

Not/^r  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge.     {Ep.  V.  F.,  53.) 
But/^r  to  meet  the  deil  her  lane.     (//.,  183.) 

6.  Verbs  '■be''  and  '■have.''  Following  the  analogy  of  other 
verbs  (see  Verbs,  i),  these  adopt  the  northern  s  form  and  take 
is,  was,  has  as  a  regular  inflection  for  all  persons,  singular  and 
plural  (though  in  Burns  and  the  modern  dialects  hae  is  very  fre- 
quently used  for  Eng.  have)  :  as 

I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some 

An  '5  thankfu'  for  them  yet.     (-Ep.  D.,  90.) 
Scotland  an'  me  ^s  in  great  affliction.     (E.  C.  P.,  8.) 
Nor  shouts  o'  war  that  'j  heard  afar.     {Go  Fetch,  15.) 
There  's  men  o'  taste  wad  tak  .  .  .     {B.  A.,  79.) 
There  'j  mony  waur  been  o'  the  race.     {A  Dr.,  25.) 
Now  thou  'j  turned  out  for  a'  thy  trouble.     {M.,  33.) 
Thou  ance  was  i'  the  foremost  rank.     {M.  M.,  13.) 
Thou  'j  met  me  in  an  evil  hour.     (M.  D.,  2.) 
Ye  then  was  trottin  wi'  your  minnie.     {M.  M.,  26.) 

Prepositions  : 

(rt;)  Instead  of  the  construction  with  of,  the  appositional  con- 
struction with  nouns  of  quantity  and  kind  is  often  used,  as  in 
Middle  English  :  as 

His  wee  drap  ^  parritch  or  his  bread 

Thou  kitchens  fine.     (S.  D.,  41.) 
They  tauld  me  'twas  an  odd  kin'  ^  chiel.    {Ep.J.  L.,  23.) 
Thy  wee  bit  1^  housie,  too,  in  ruin.     (M.,  19.) 
Pickin  her  pouch  as  bare  as  winter 

O'  a'  kind  j^  coin.      (£".  C.  P.,  42.) 

{b)  Sometimes  the  preposition  is  thrown  after  its  object.  This 
is  a  poetic  license,  but  Scotch  permits  greater  freedom  in  this 
respect :  as 

And  what  poor  cot-folk  pit  their  painch  in.      {T.  D.,  69.) 
But  juist  the  pouchie  put  the  neive  in.    (Ep.  D.  [H],  33.) 


XCll  APPENDICES. 

That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in.     {T.  Sh.,  70.) 
Every  naig  ^  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on.     (T.  S/t.,  25.) 
(c)    Sometimes  it  is  used  irregularly  as  an  adverb  :  as 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  vi 

That's  richt  that  day.     (H.  F.,  134.) 
She  pat  but  little  faith  in.     {H.,  184.) 
An'  just  a  wee  drap  sp'ritual  burn  in.     {S.  Z?.,  53.) 

Other  Irregularities: 

Burns's  language,  being  drawn  largely  direct  from  the  speech 
of  the  common  people,  partakes  of  the  structural  freedom  of  such 
conversational  speech.  The  uneducated  peasantry  often  make  an 
expressive  drive  at  a  thought  without  strict  attention  to  gram- 
matical form.  Burns  avails  himself  of  this  liberty,  and  frequently 
employs  condensed  expressions  that  defy  strict  analysis.  The 
same  holds  of  modern  Icelandic.  Cf.  Vigfusson  and  Powell's 
Icelandic  Reader  ;  Grammar.,  chap.  iv.     Examples  : 

An'  may  a  bard  no  crack  his  jest 

What  way  they've  used  him?     {^Ep.  McM.,  30.) 

He  '11  still  disdain. 
And  then  cry  zeal  for  gospel  laws.     (^Ep.  McM.,  53.) 

Wad  gar  ye  trow  ye  ne'er  do  wrang, 

But  aye  unerring  steady.     (^A  Dr.,  1 7.) 

Are  doomed  .  .  . 

The  death  o'  devils,  smoor'd  wi'  brunstone  reek.   (^B.A.,  8.) 

Or  like  the  snow  .  .  . 

A  moment  white  —  then  melts  for  ever.     (7".  Sh.,  62.) 

The  moral  man  he  does  define 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That's  richt  that  day.     {H.  F.,  134. 

But  for  to  meet  the  deil  her  lane 

She  pat  but  little  faith  in.     {^H.,  184.) 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


A  COMPLETE  bibliography  of  Burns  literature  would  be  too 
extensive  to  find  a  place  here.  Only  a  few  of  the  most  service- 
able references  are  given. 

Works.  —  The  older  editions  of  Currie,  Allan  Cunningham, 
Hogg  and  Motherwell,  and  others  are  now  superseded. 

1.  Complete  Writings^  ed.  by  W.  Scott  Douglas  :  6  vols., 
Edinburgh,  1877-79.  [Vols.  I-III  contain  the  poems  and  songs 
in  chronological  order  with  valuable  notes  ;  vols.  IV-VI,  the 
letters.  The  able  monograph  of  Professor  Nichol  (see  No.  11 
below)  is  prefixed  to  vol.  I.] 

2.  Life  and  Works,  ed.  by  R.  Chambers,  revised  by  William 
Wallace  :  4  vols.,  London  and  New  York,  1896.  [The  writings 
are  incorporated  in  the  Life  in  their  chronological  order.  Mr. 
Wallace  has  added  much  new  material  and  corrected  many  old 
errors.     This  is  the  best  combined  Life  and  IVorks.'] 

3.  Poems,  Songs,  and  Letters,  ed.  by  Alexander  Smith  :  i  vol., 
London  and  New  York,  1893.  [The  "  Globe  "  edition,  a  conven- 
ient working  edition.] 

4.  Poetical  Works,  ed.  by  Sir  Harris  Nicholas,  revised  by 
Geo.  A.  Aitken  :  3  vols.,  London,  1893.  [The  third  "  Aldine  " 
edition  ;  good  introduction  and  notes.] 

5.  Poetical  Works,  ed.  by  W.  Scott  Douglas  :  3  vols.,  i2mo., 
Edinburgh,  1893.  [Complete  ;  the  chronological  order  is  followed 
and  valuable  notes  are  added  to  each  poem  ;  the  binding  is  poor.] 

6.  Poe?ns  and  Songs,  ed.  by  A.  Lang  and  W.  A.  Craigie  :  i  vol., 
8vo.,  New  York,  1896.  [Complete  ;  chronological  order  ;  good 
notes  and  introduction  ;  excellent  typography ;  bad  paper.] 

7.  Selections,  ed.  by  J.  Logie  Robertson  :  i  vol.,  8vo.,  Oxford, 
1889.  [The  notes  contain  much  appreciative  criticism,  but  there 
are  many  errors.] 


XCIV  BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

8.  "  The  Centenary  Burns."  The  Poetry  of  Robert  Burns, 
ed.  by  W.  E.  Henley  and  T.  F.  Henderson  :  4  vols.,  Edinburgh 
and  Boston,  1896-97.  [Complete;  chronological  order  ;  valuable 
notes  and  discussions ;  most  complete  bibliographical  and  textual 
material:  printing,  paper,  etc.,  very  fine.] 

("  The  Cambridge  Edition,"  Complete  Poetical  Works,  i  vol., 
Boston,  1897,  is  a  reprint  of  the  text  of  No.  8,  with  Mr.  Henley's 
biographical  and  critical  essay.  This  essay  is  also  published  sep- 
arately :  Edinburgh,  1898.) 

Life.  —  The  most  trustworthy  comment  on  Burns's  life  is  con- 
tained in  his  poems  and  letters.  Every  biography  should  be 
checked  by  a  study  of  these. 

The  most  complete  and  authoritative  Life  is  that  by  Chambers 
and  Wallace.     See  No.  2  above. 

9.  By  M.  Aug.  Angellier,  Robert  Burns,  Sa  Vie,  Ses  CEicvres, 
2  vols.,  Paris,  1893.  [Up  to  the  appearance  of  No.  2,  the  'most 
scholarly,  most  sympathetic  and  complete  Life  of  Burns  in  any 
language  '  ;  has  a  good  bibliography.] 

ID.  By  J.  Gibson  Lockhart,  revised  and  enlarged  by  W.  Scott 
Douglas:  i  vol.,  8vo.,  London,  1882.  [Bohn's  "Standard  Li- 
brary "  series  ;  long  the  best  work  on  the  subject  ;  it  was  Lock- 
hart's  Zz/"^(  1828)  that  produced  Carlyle's  well-known  review.  See 
No.  16  below.] 

11.  By  John  Nichol  :  Edinburgh,  1882.  [An  excellent  sum- 
mary ;  see  No.  i  above.] 

12.  By  J.  C.  Shairp  :  i  vol.,  London,  1879.  ["  English  Men  of 
Letters  "  series  ;  the  author  laments  that  Burns  wrote  his  satires, 
and  is  otherwise  "  unco  guid."] 

13.  By  J.  S.  Blackie  :  i  vol.,  London,  1888.  ["  Great  Writers  " 
series ;  worth  litde,  but  contains  a  good  bibliography  by  J.  P. 
Anderson,  of  the  British  Museum.] 

14.  By  Gabriel  Setoun  :  i  vol.,  Edinburgh  and  London,  1896. 
["  Famous  Scots  "  series.] 

[While  this  book  is  passing  through  the  press,  the  first  complete 
edition  of  the  correspondence  of  Burns  and  Mrs.  Dunlop  is  an- 
nounced, edited  by  William  Wallace:  London,  1898.] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY.  xcv 

Criticisms.  —  In  addition  to  the  criticisms  embodied  in  many 
of  the  foregoing  may  be  mentioned  (in  alphabetical  order)  : 

15.  Brooke,  Stopford :  Theology  in  the  Ettglish  Poets  (Lon- 
don, 1874),  pp.  287-339. 

16.  Carlyle,  Thos.  :  Miscellaneous  Essays,  "  Essay  on  Burns  "  ; 
see  No.  10,  above. 

1 7.  Emerson,  R.  W.  :  Speech  at  the  Burns  Centenary,  Boston, 
1859;  Works  (Boston  and  New  York,  1889),  Vol.  XI,  pp. 
303-8. 

18.  Hazlitt,  William  :  Lectures  on  the  English  Poets  (London, 
1819),  pp.  245-282. 

19.  Kingsley,  Charles:  "  Burns  and  his  School,"  Works  (Lon- 
don, 1880),  Vol.  XX  ;  original  printed  in  North  British  Review, 
Vol.  XVI. 

20.  Lang,  Andrew:  Letters  to  Dead  Authors  (London,  1886), 
pp.  195-204. 

21.  Service,  John  :  Ward's  English  Poets  (London,  1883), 
Vol.  Ill,  pp.  512-571. 

22.  Shairp,  J.  C.  :  Poetic  Interpretation  of  Nature  (Edinburgh, 
1877),  pp.  213-219;  Aspects  of  Poetty  (Oxford,  1881),  pp.  192- 
226. 

23.  Stevenson,  R.  L.  :  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books 
(London,  1882),  pp.  38-90;  originally  printed  in  Cornhill  Mag- 
azine, October,  1879. 

24.  Taine,  Henri:  Histoire  de  la  Litt.  Anglaise,  translated  by 
Van  Laun  (London,  1873-4),  Vol.  Ill,  pp.  389-412. 

25.  Wilson,  John  ("  Christopher  North  ")  :  "  Genius  and  Char- 
acter of  Burns,"  Works  (Edinburgh  and  London,  n.  d.),  Vol.  Ill, 
pp.  I -2 1 1  ;  interesting  as  the  criticism  of  an  old-fashioned  per- 
fervid  Scot. 

Collateral  Matter  : 

26.  Walker,  Hugh  :  Three  Centuries  of  Scottish  Literature,  2 
vols.,  London  and  New  York,  1893. 

27.  Veitch,  John  :  The  Feeling  for  Nature  in  Scottish  Poetry, 
Edinburgh,  1887. 


XCVl  BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

28.  Johnson,  James  :  Scots  Musical  Museum,  5  vols.,  fol. 
Edinburgh,  i  787-1803  ;  reprinted,  ed.  by  W.  Stenhouse  and  D. 
Laing,  4  vols.,  Edinburgh,  1853.     [A  standard  work.] 

29.  Cromek,  R.  H.  :  Reliques  of  Robert  Burns,  i  vol.,  Lon- 
don, 1808  ;  Philadelphia,  1809.  [Contains  Burns's  critical  notes 
on  Scottish  Song.] 

30.  Ritson,  Jos.  :  Collection  of  Scottish  Songs,  with  music,  2 
vols.,  London,  1794;  facsimile  reprint,  Glasgow,  1869."  [Good 
introduction  on  Scottish  Songs  and  Music] 

31.  Herd,  David  :  Ancient  and  Modern  Scottish  Songs,  2 
vols.,  Edinburgh,  1776  ;  reprinted  with  additions,  Glasgow,  1869  ; 
ed.  by  S.  Gilpin,  Edinburgh,  1869.     [Scholarly.] 

32.  Chambers,  Robert :  Songs  of  Scotland  Prior  to  Burns, 
with  the  tunes,  Edinburgh,  1862.     [Good  introduction.] 

33.  Rogers,  Dr.  C.  :  The  Scottish  Minstrel,  songs  and  song 
writers  of  Scotland  subsequent  to  Burns,  i  vol.,  Edinburgh,  1870. 
[Popular.] 

34.  The  Songs  of  Scotland,  chronologically  arranged,  i  vol., 
8vo.,  London,  1870  ;  Glasgow,  1871.     [Valuable  introduction.] 

35.  Hogg,  James  :  The  facobite  Relics  of  Scotlatid,  2  vols., 
Edinburgh,  1819-21.     [Good  enough  for  lack  of  a  better.] 

36.  Murray,  J.  Clarke:  The  Ballads  and  Songs  of  Scotland, 
in  view  of  their  influence  on  the  character  of  the  people,  i  vol., 
Toronto  and  London,  1874. 

37.  Robertson,  J.  Logie  ("Hugh  Haliburton  ")  :  /«  Scottish 
Fields,  I  vol.,  Edinburgh,  1890. 

38.  Hawthorne,  Nath.  :   Our  Old  Home  (Haunts  of  Burns). 

39.  Hadden,  J.  Cuthbert  :  George  Thomson,  The  Friend  of 
Burns :  His  Life  and  Correspondence  :   London,  1898. 

The  student  may  find  interest  and  edification  in  the  poetical 
tributes  paid  to  Burns  by  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Keats,  Campbell, 
Longfellow,  and  others. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


SONG,  — O   TIBBIE,   I    HAE   SEEN   THE   DAY. 

Chorus.  —  O  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day 
Ye  wad  na  been  sae  shy ; 
For  laik  o'  gear  ye  lightly  me, 
But,  trowth,  I  care  na  by. 

Yestreen  I  met  you  on  the  moor,  5 

Ye  spak  na,  but  gaed  by  like  stoure; 
Ye  geek  at  me  because  I  'm  poor, 
But  fient  a  hair  care  I. 

I  doubt  na,  lass,  but  ye  may  think. 
Because  ye  hae  the  name  o'  clink,  lo 

That  ye  can  please  me  at  a  wink, 
Whene'er  ye  like  to  try. 

But  sorrow  tak  him  that 's  sae  mean, 
Altho'  his  pouch  o'  coin  were  clean, 
Wha  follows  ony  saucy  quean,  iS 

That  looks  sae  proud  and  high. 

Altho'  a  lad  were  e'er  sae  smart. 
If  that  he  want  the  yellow  dirt. 
Ye  '11  cast  your  head  anither  airt, 

An'  answer  him  fu'  dry.  20 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

But  if  he  hae  the  name  o'  gear, 
Ye  '11  fasten  to  him  like  a  brier, 
Tho'  hardly  he,  for  sense  or  lear, 
Be  better  than  the  kye. 

But,  Tibbie,  lass,  tak  my  advice,  25 

Your  daddie's  gear  maks  you  sae  nice  ; 
The  deil  a  ane  wad  spier  your  price, 
Were  ye  as  poor  as  I. 

There  lives  a  lass  beside  yon  park, 
I  'd  rather  hae  her  in  her  sark,  3° 

Than  you  wi'  a'  your  thousand  mark. 
That  gars  you  look  sae  high. 


SONG,  — MARY  MORISON. 

O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be. 

It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted  hour ! 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see, 

That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor  : 
How  blythely  wad  I  bide  the  stoure,  5 

A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun, 
Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure. 

The  lovely  Mary  Morison. 

Yestreen  when  to  the  trembling  string 

The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha',  10 

To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 

I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw  : 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw, 

And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sigh'd,  and  said  amang  them  a',  ^5 

"  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison." 


A   PRAYER.  3 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die  ? 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee  ?  20 

If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown  : 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison. 


A  PRAYER 

IN   THE   PROSPECT   OF   DEATH. 

Oh  thou  unknown  Almighty  Cause 

Of  all  my  hope  and  fear  ! 
In  whose  dread  presence,  ere  an  hour, 

Perhaps  I  must  appear ! 

If  I  have  wander'd  in  those  paths  5 

Of  life  I  ought  to  shun  — 
As  something,  loudly,  in  my  breast, 

Remonstrates  I  have  done  — 

Thou  know'st  that  Thou  hast  formed  me. 

With  passions  wild  and  strong  ;  10 

And  list'ning  to  their  witching  voice 
Has  often  led  me  wrong. 

Where  human  weakness  has  come  short, 

Or  frailty  stept  aside, 
Do  Thou,  All-good  !  —  for  such  Thou  art  —         15 

In  shades  of  darkness  hide. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


Where  with  intention  I  have  err'd, 

No  other  plea  I  have 
But  —  Thou  art  good  ;  and  Goodness  still 

Delighteth  to  forgive.  20 


THE  DEATH  AND  DYING  WORDS  OF  POOR  MAILIE, 

THE   author's   only   PET   YOWE : 
An  unco  mournfu'  Tale. 

As  Mailie  an'  her  lambs  thegither 

Was  ae  day  nibblin  on  the  tether, 

Upon  her  cloot  she  coost  a  hitch, 

An  owre  she  warsl'd  in  the  ditch : 

There,  groanin,  dyin,  she  did  lie,  S 

When  Hughoc  he  cam  doytin  by. 

Wi'  glowrin  een  and  Ufted  ban's, 
Poor  Hughoc  like  a  statue  Stan's  ; 
He  saw  her  days  were  near-hand  ended. 
But,  wae  's  my  heart !  he  could  na  mend  it.  Jo 

He  gaped  wide  but  naething  spak  — 
At  length  poor  Mailie  silence  brak. 

"  O  thou,  whase  lamentable  face 
Appears  to  mourn  my  woefu'  case  ! 
My  dying  words  attentive  hear,  '5 

An'  bear  them  to  my  Master  dear. 

"  Tell  him,  if  e'er  again  he  keep 
As  muckle  gear  as  buy  a  sheep  — 
Oh,  bid  him  never  tie  them  mair 
Wi'  wicked  strings  o'  hemp  or  hair !  20 


I 


THE  DEATH  OF  POOR  MA/LIE.  5 

But  ca'  them  out  to  park  or  hill, 
An'  let  them  wander  at  their  will : 
So  may  his  flock  increase  and  grow 
To.  scores  o'  lambs  and  packs  o'  woo' ! 

"  Tell  him,  he  was  a  Master  kin',  25 

An'  aye  was  guid  to  me  an'  mine  ; 
An'  now  my  dying  charge  I  gie  him  — 
My  helpless  lambs,  I  trust  them  wi'  him. 

"  Oh,  bid  him  save  their  harmless  lives 
Frae  dogs,  an'  tods,  an'  butchers'  knives  !  30 

But  gie  them  guid  cow-milk  their  fill. 
Till  they  be  fit  to  fend  themsel ; 
An'  tent  them  duly,  e'en  an'  morn, 
Wi'  taets  o'  hay,  an'  ripps  o'  corn. 

"  An'  may  they  never  learn  the  gaets  35 

Of  ither  vile,  wanrestfu'  pets. 
To  slink  through  slaps,  an'  reave  an'  steal 
At  stacks  o'  peas,  or  stocks  o'  kail. 
So  may  they,  like  their  great  forbears. 
For  monie  a  year  come  thro'  the  shears :  40 

So  wives  will  gie  them  bits  o'  bread. 
An'  bairns  greet  for  them  when  they  're  dead. 

"  My  poor  toop-lamb,  my  son  an'  heir, 
Oh,  bid  him  breed  him  up  wi'  care ; 
An'  if  he  live  to  be  a  beast,  45 

To  pit  some  havins  in  his  breast  ! 

"  An'  warn  him,  what  I  winna  name, 
To  stay  content  wi'  yowes  at  hame ; 
An'  no  to  rin  an'  wear  his  cloots. 
Like  ither  menseless,  graceless  brutes.  50 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

"  And  niest  my  yowie,  silly  thing, 
Gude  keep  thee  frae  a  tether  string  ! 
Oh,  may  thou  ne'er  forgather  up 
Wi'  ony  blastit,  moorland  toop. 

But  ay  keep  mind  to  moop  and  mell  55 

Wi'  sheep  o'  credit  like  thysel  ! 

"  And  now,  my  bairns,  wi'  my  last  breath 
I  lea'e  my  blessin  wi'  you  baith  ; 
And  when  you  think  upo'  your  mither, 
Mind  to  be  kin'  to  ane  anither,  60 

*'  Now,  honest  Hnghoc,  dinna  fail 
To  tell  my  master  a'  my  tale  ; 
An'  bid  him  burn  this  cursed  tether. 
An'  for  thy  pains  thou  'se  get  my  blether." 

This  said,  poor  Mailie  turn'd  her  head,  65 

An'  clos'd  her  een  amang  the  dead  ! 


POOR  MAILIE'S  ELEGY. 

Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose, 
Wi'  saut  tears  tricklin  doun  your  nose ; 
Our  Bardie's  fate  is  at  a  close. 

Past  a'  remead  ; 
The  last,  sad  cape-stane  o'  his  woe  's  — 

Poor  Mailie  's  dead  ! 

It 's  no  the  loss  o'  warl's  gear. 
That  could  sae  bitter  draw  the  tear, 
Or  mak  our  Bardie,  dowie,  wear 


POOR  MA /LIE'S  ELEGY.  7 

The  mournin  weed  :  lo 

He 's  lost  a  friend  and  neebor  dear, 
In  Mailie  dead. 

Thro'  a'  the  toun  she  trotted  by  him  ; 

A  lang  half-mile  she  could  descry  him ; 

Wi'  kindly  bleat,  when  she  did  spy  him,  »S 

She  ran  wi'  speed  : 
A  friend  mair  faithfu'  ne'er  cam  nigh  him, 

Than  Mailie  dead. 

I  wat  she  was  a  sheep  o'  sense. 

An'  could  behave  hersel  wi'  mense  ;  *o 

I  '11  say 't,  she  never  brak  a  fence, 

Thro'  thievish  greed. 
Our  Bardie,  lanely,  keeps  the  spence 

Sin  Mailie 's  dead. 

Or,  if  he  wanders  up  the  howe,  ^5 

Her  livin  image  in  her  yowe 

Comes  bleatin  till  him,  owre  the  knowe, 

For  bits  o'  bread  ; 
An'  down  the  briny  pearls  rowe 

For  Mailie  dead.  3° 

She  was  nae  get  o'  moorlan'  tips, 

Wi'  tawted  ket,  an'  hairy  hips  ; 

For  her  forbears  were  brought  in  ships, 

Frae  yont  the  Tweed  : 
A  bonier  fleesh  ne'er  cross'd  the  clips  35 

Than  Mailie  's  dead. 

Wae  worth  the  man  wha  first  did  shape 
That  vile,  wanchancie  thing  —  a  rape  ! 
It  makes  guid  fellows  girn  an'  gape, 


8  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Wi'  chokin  dread  ;  4° 

An'  Robin's  bonnet  wave  wi'  crape, 
For  Mailie  dead. 

O  a'  ye  Bards  on  bonie  Doon  ! 

An'  wha  on  Ayr  your  chanters  tune ! 

Come,  join  the  melancholious  croon  45 

O'  Robin's  reed  ! 
His  heart  will  never  get  aboon  — 

His  Mailie  's  dead  1 


SONG,  — MY  NANIE,  O. 

Behind  yon  hills  where  Lugar  flows, 

'Mang  moors  an'  mosses  many,  O, 
The  wintry  sun  the  day  has  clos'd, 

An'  I  '11  awa  to  Nanie,  O. 

The  westlin  wind  blaws  loud  an'  shill  :  S 

The  night 's  baith  mirk  an'  rainy,  O ; 

But  I  '11  get  my  plaid  an'  out  I  '11  steal. 
An'  owre  the  hill  to  Nanie,  O. 

My  Nanie  's  charming,  sweet,  an'  young ; 

Nae  artfu'  wiles  to  win  ye,  O  :  *o 

May  ill  befa'  the  flattering  tongue 

That  wad  beguile  my  Nanie,  O. 

Her  face  is  fair,  her  heart  is  true. 

As  spotless  as  she  's  bonie,  O: 
The  op'ning  gowan,  wat  wi'  dew,  *5 

Nae  purer  is  than  Nanie,  O. 


GREEN  GROW  THE   RASHES.  9 

A  country  lad  is  my  degree, 

An'  few  there  be  that  ken  me,  O ; 
But  what  care  I  how  few  they  be  ? 

I  'm  welcome  aye  to  Nanie,  O.  20 

My  riches  a's  my  penny-fee, 

An'  I  maun  guide  it  cannie,  O  ; 
But  warl's  gear  ne'er  troubles  me. 

My  thoughts  are  a'  my  Nanie,  O. 

Our  auld  guidman  delights  to  view  25 

His  sheep  an'  kye  thrive  bonie,  O  ; 
But  I  'm  as  blythe  that  bauds  his  pleugh, 

And  has  nae  care  but  Nanie,  O. 

Come  weel,  come  woe,  I  care  na  by, 

I  '11  tak  what  Heav'n  will  sen'  me,  O ;  3° 

Nae  ither  care  in  life  hae  I, 

But  live,  an'  love  my  Nanie,  O. 


SONG,  — GREEN  GROW  THE  RASHES. 

Chorus.  — Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 
Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 

The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spend 
Are  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O. 

There  's  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry  han', 
In  every  hour  that  passes,  O  : 

What  signifies  the  life  o'  man, 
An  'twere  na  for  the  lasses,  O? 


10 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


The  war'ly  race  may  riches  chase, 
An'  riches  still  may  fly  them,  O ; 

An'  tho'  at  last  they  catch  them  fast, 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  O. 

But  gie  me  a  cannie  hour  at  e'en, 
My  arms  about  my  dearie,  O  ; 

An'  war'ly  cares,  an'  war'ly  men, 
May  a'  gae  tapsalteerie,  O. 

For  you  sae  douce,  ye  sneer  at  this  ; 

Ye  're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  O : 
The  wisest  man  the  warl'  e'er  saw. 

He  dearly  lov'd  the  lasses,  O. 

Auld  Nature  swears,  the  lovely  dears 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O  : 

Her  prentice  han'  she  try'd  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O. 


10 


'S 


20 


EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE, 

A   BROTHER   POET. 

While  winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond  blaw, 
An'  bar  the  doors  wi'  drivin  snaw, 

An'  hing  us  owre  the  ingle, 
I  set  me  down  to  pass  the  time, 
An'  spin  a  verse  or  twa  o'  rhyme, 

In  hamely  westlin  jingle. 
While  frosty  winds  blaw  in  the  drift, 

Ben  to  the  chimla  lug, 
I  grudge  a  wee  the  great-folk's  gift, 


EPISTLE    TO  DAVIE.  11 

That  live  sae  bien  an'  snug  :  lo 

I  tent  less,  an'  want  less 

Their  roomy  fireside ; 
But  hanker  and  canker 

To  see  their  cursed  pride. 

It 's  hardly  in  a  body's  pow'r  ^5 

To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour, 

To  see  how  things  are  shar'd; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whiles  in  want. 
While  coofs  on  countless  thousands  rant. 

An'  ken  na  how  to  ware  't ;  20 

But  Davie,  lad,  ne'er  fash  your  head, 

Tho'  we  hae  little  gear. 
We  're  fit  to  win  our  daily  bread. 
As  lang  's  we  're  hale  and  fier, 

"  Mair  spier  na,  nor  fear  na,"  25 

Auld  age  ne'er  mind  a  feg  ; 
The  last  o't,  the  warst  o't. 
Is  only  but  to  beg. 

To  lie  in  kilns  an'  barns  at  e'en. 

When  banes  are  craz'd,  an'  bluid  is  thin,  3° 

Is  doubtless  great  distress  ! 
Yet  then  content  could  mak  us  blest ; 
Ev'n  then,  sometimes,  we  'd  snatch  a  taste 

Of  truest  happiness. 
The  honest  heart  that 's  free  frae  a'  35 

Intended  fraud  or  guile. 
However  Fortune  kick  the  ba'. 
Has  ay  some  cause  to  smile  : 
An'  mind  still,  you  '11  find  still, 

A  comfort  this  nae  sma' ;  4° 

Nae  mair  then,  we  '11  care  then, 
Nae  farther  can  we  fa'. 


12 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


What  tho',  like  commoners  of  air, 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where, 

But  either  house  or  hal'  ?  45 

Yet  nature's  charms,  the  hills  and  woods, 
The  sweeping  vales,  and  foaming  floods. 

Are  free  alike  to  all. 
In  days  when  daisies  deck  the  ground. 

And  blackbirds  whistle  clear,  50 

With  honest  joy  our  hearts  will  bound 
To  see  the  coming  year  : 

On  braes  when  we  please,  then, 

We  'II  sit  and  sowth  a  tune  ; 
Syne  rhyme  till 't,  we  '11  time  till 't,  55 

And  sing 't  when  we  hae  done. 


It 's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank  ; 

It 's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank, 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest ; 
It 's  no  in  making  muckle,  mair  : 
It 's  no  in  books,  it 's  no  in  lear, 

To  mak  us  truly  blest : 
If  happiness  hae  not  her  seat 

And  centre  in  the  breast. 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great, 
But  never  can  be  blest  : 

Nae  treasures  nor  pleasures 

Could  mak  us  happy  lang  ; 
The  heart  ay 's  the  part  ay 
That  maks  us  right  or  wrang. 


60 


65 


70 


Think  ye,  that  sic  as  you  and  I, 

Wha  drudge  and  drive  thro'  wet  an'  dry, 

Wi'  never  ceasing  toil,  — 
Think  ye,  are  we  less  blest  than  they, 


EPISTLE    TO   DAVIE.  13 

Wha  scarcely  tent  us  in  their  way,  75 

As  hardly  worth  their  while  ? 
Alas !  how  aft,  in  haughty  mood, 
God's  creatures  they  oppress  ! 
Or  else,  neglecting  a'  that 's  guid. 

They  riot  in  excess  !  80 

Baith  careless,  and  fearless, 

Of  either  heav'n  or  hell ! 
Esteeming,  and  deeming 
It  a'  an  idle  tale  ! 

Then  let  us  cheerfu'  acquiesce,  85 

Nor  mak'  our  scanty  pleasures  less, 

By  pining  at  our  state ; 
And,  even  should  misfortunes  come,  — 
I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some. 

An  's  thankfu'  for  them  yet  —  90 

They  gie  the  wit  of  age  to  youth ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel' ; 
They  mak  us  see  the  naked  truth, 
The  real  guid  and  ill : 

Though  losses  an'  crosses  95 

Be  lessons  right  severe. 
There  's  wit  there,  ye  '11  get  there. 
Ye  '11  find  nae  other  where. 

But  tent  me,  Davie,  ace  o'  hearts  ! 

(To  say  aught  less  wad  wrang  the  cartes,  100 

And  flatt'ry  I  detest) 
This  life  has  joys  for  you  and  I, — 
An'  joys  that  riches  ne'er  could  buy, — 

An'  joys  the  very  best. 
There  's  a'  the  pleasures  o'  the  heart,  105 

The  lover  and  the  frien' ; 


14  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Ye  hae  your  Meg,  your  dearest  part, 
And  I  my  darling  Jean  ! 
It  warms  me,  it  charms  me, 

To  mention  but  her  name :  "  "o 

It  heats  me,  it  beets  me. 
An'  sets  me  a'  on  flame ! 

O  all  ye  Pow'rs  who  rule  above  ! 
O  Thou,  whose  very  self  art  love ! 

Thou  know'st  my  words  sincere  !  i^S 

The  life-blood  streaming  thro'  my  heart. 
Or  my  more  dear  immortal  part. 

Is  not  more  fondly  dear  ! 
When  heart-corroding  care  and  grief 

Deprive  my  soul  of  rest,  ^20 

Her  dear  idea  brings  relief 
And  solace  to  my  breast. 
Thou  Being,  All-seeing, 

Oh  hear  my  fervent  pray'r ! 
Still  take  her,  and  make  her  125 

Thy  most  peculiar  care  ! 

All  hail,  ye  tender  feelings  dear ! 
The  smile  of  love,  the  friendly  tear, 

The  sympathetic  glow ! 
Long  since,  this  world's  thorny  ways  ^3° 

Had  number'd  out  my  weary  days. 

Had  it  not  been  for  you ! 
Fate  still  has  blest  me  with  a  friend. 

In  ev'ry  care  and  ill ; 
And  oft  a  more  endearing  band,  ^35 

A  tie  more  tender  still. 
It  lightens,  it  brightens 
The  tenebrific  scene, 


RANTIN  ROVIJV  ROBIN.  15 

To  meet  with,  an'  greet  with 

My  Davie  or  my  Jean.  140 

Oh,  how  that  Name  inspires  my  style  ! 
The  words  come  skelpin,  rank  and  file, 

Amaist  before  I  ken  ! 
The  ready  measure  rins  as  fine, 
As  Phoebus  and  the  famous  Nine  145 

Were  glowrin  owre  my  pen. 
My  spaviet  Pegasus  will  limp. 

Till  ance  he  's  fairly  het ; 
And  then  he'll  hilch,  and  stilt,  and  jimp, 

An'  rin  an  unco  fit:  150 

But  least  then  the  beast  then 
Should  rue  this  hasty  ride, 
I  '11  light  now,  and  dight  now 
His  sweaty,  wizen'd  hide. 


SONG,  — RANTIN  ROVIN  ROBIN. 

There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle, 
But  whatna  day  o'  whatna  style, 
I  doubt  it 's  hardly  worth  the  while 
To  be  sae  nice  wi'  Robin. 

Chorus.  —  Robin  was  a  rovin  boy,  5 

Rantin,  rovin,  rantin,  rovin ; 
Robin  was  a  rovin  boy, 
Rantin,  rovin  Robin. 

Our  monarch's  hindmost  year  but  ane 
Was  five-and-twenty  days  begun,  10 

'T  was  then  a  blast  o'  Janwar'  win' 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin. 


16 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


The  gossip  keekit  in  his  loof, 
Quo'  scho,  "  Wha  Uves  will  see  the  proof, 
This  waly  boy  will  be  nae  coof ; 
I  think  we  '11  ca'  him  Robin. 


n 


"  He  '11  hae  misfortunes  great  and  sma', 
But  aye  a  heart  aboon  them  a' ; 
He  '11  be  a  credit  till  us  a'  — 
We  '11  a'  be  proud  o'  Robin. 

"  But  sure  as  three  times  three  mak  nine, 
I  see  by  ilka  score  and  line, 
This  chap  will  dearly  like  our  kin', 
So  leeze  me  on  thee,  Robin." 


20 


ADDRESS   TO   THE   DEIL. 

O  Prince!  O  Chief  of  many  throned  pow'rs! 

That  led  th'  embattled  seraphim  to  war.   —  Milton. 

0  THOU  !  whatever  title  suit  thee,  — 
Auld  Hornie,  Satan,  Nick,  or  Clootie ! 
Wha  in  yon  cavern,  grim  an'  sootie, 

Clos'd  under  hatches, 
Spairges  about  the  brunstane  cootie 
To  scaud  poor  wretches ! 

Hear  me,  auld  Hangie,  for  a  wee, 
An'  let  poor  damned  bodies  be  ; 

1  'm  sure  sma'  pleasure  it  can  gie, 

E'en  to  a  deil. 
To  skelp  an'  scaud  poor  dogs  like  me. 
An'  hear  us  squeel ! 


10 


ADDRESS    TO    THE   DEIL.  17 

Great  is  thy  pow'r,  an'  great  thy  fame ; 

Far  ken'd  an'  noted  is  thy  name ; 

An'  tho'  yon  lowin  heugh's  thy  hame,  iS 

Thou  travels  far; 
An'  faith !  thou  's  neither  lag  nor  lame, 

Nor  blate  nor  scaur. 

Whyles,  rangin  like  a  roarin  lion, 

For  prey  a'  holes  an'  corners  tryin  ;  20 

Whyles,  on  the  strong-wing'd  tempest  flyin, 

Tirlin'  the  kirks  ; 
Whyles,  in  the  human  bosom  pryin, 

Unseen  thou  lurks, 

I  've  heard  my  rev'rend  grannie  say,  25 

In  lanely  glens  ye  like  to  stray; 
Or  whare  auld  ruin'd  castles  gray 

Nod  to  the  moon, 
Ye  fright  the  nightly  wand'rer's  way 

Wi'  eldritch  croon.  3° 

When  twilight  did  my  grannie  summon 
To  say  her  pray'rs,  douce  honest  woman ! 
Aft  yont  the  dyke  she  's  heard  you  bummin, 

Wi'  eerie  drone ; 
Or,  rustlin,  thro'  the  boortrees  comin,  35 

Wi'  heavy  groan. 

Ae  dreary,  windy,  winter  night. 

The  stars  shot  down  wi'  sklentin  light, 

Wi'  you  mysel  I  gat  a  fright 

Ayont  the  lough  ;  4° 

Ye  like  a  rash-buss  stood  in  sight 

Wi'  waving  sough. 


18  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

The  cudgel  in  my  nieve  did  shake, 

Each  bristl'd  hair  stood  like  a  stake, 

When  wi'  an  eldritch,  stoor  "  Quaick,  quaick,"  45 

Amang  the  springs, 
Awa  ye  squatter'd  like  a  drake, 

On  whistlin  wings. 

Let  warlocks  grim  an'  wither'd  hags 

Tell  how  wi'  you  on  ragweed  nags  5° 

They  skim  the  muirs  an'  dizzy  crags 

Wi'  wicked  speed ; 
And  in  kirk-yards  renew  their  leagues, 

Owre  howket  dead. 

Thence,  countra  wives  wi'  toil  an'  pain  55 

May  plunge  an'  plunge  the  kirn  in  vain ; 
For  oh  !  the  yellow  treasure  's  taen 

By  witchin  skill ; 
An'  dawtet,  twal-pint  hawkie  's  gaen 

As  yell 's  the  bill.  6o 

Thence,  mystic  knots  mak  great  abuse, 
On  young  guidmen,  fond,  keen,  an'  crouse ; 
When  the  best  wark-lume  i'  the  house. 

By  cantrip  wit, 
Is  instant  made  no  worth  a  louse,  65 

Just  at  the  bit. 

When  thowes  dissolve  the  snawy  hoord, 
An'  float  the  jinglin  icy-boord. 
Then  water-kelpies  haunt  the  foord 

By  your  direction,  7° 

An'  nighted  trav'lers  are  allur'd 

To  their  destruction. 


ADDRESS    TO    THE  DEIL.  19 

And  aft  your  moss-traversing  spunkies 

Decoy  the  wight  that  late  and  drunk  is  : 

The  bleezin,  curst,  mischievous  monkeys  75 

Delude  his  eyes, 
Till  in  some  miry  slough  he  sunk  is. 

Ne'er  mair  to  rise. 

When  masons'  mystic  word  and  grip 

In  storms  an'  tempests  raise  you  up,  80 

Some  cock  or  cat  your  rage  maun  stop, 

Or,  strange  to  tell, 
The  youngest  brither  ye  wad  whip 

A£f  straught  to  hell ! 

Lang  syne,  in  Eden's  bonie  yard,  85 

When  youthfu'  lovers  first  were  pair'd, 
And  all  the  soul  of  love  they  shar'd, 

The  raptur'd  hour. 
Sweet  on  the  fragrant  flow'ry  swaird, 

In  shady  bow'r  ;  90 

Then  you,  ye  auld  sneck-drawin  dog! 

Ye  cam  to  Paradise  incoe:. 

And  play'd  on  man  a  cursed  brogue, 

(Black  be  your  fa' !) 
And  gied  the  infant  warld  a  shog,  95 

Maist  ruin'd  a'. 

D  'ye  mind  that  day,  when  in  a  bizz, 
Wi'  reeket  duds  and  reestet  gizz. 
Ye  did  present  your  smoutie  phiz 

Mang  better  folk,  100 

An'  sklented  on  the  man  of  Uz 

Your  spitefu'  joke? 


20  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

An'  how  ye  gat  him  i'  your  thrall, 

An'  brak  him  out  o'  house  and  hal', 

While  scabs  and  blotches  did  him  gall,  105 

Wi'  bitter  claw. 
An'  lows'd  his  ill-tongued,  wicked  scaul, 

Was  warst  ava? 

But  a'  your  doings  to  rehearse. 

Your  wily  snares  an'  fechtin  fierce,  no 

Sin'  that  day  Michael  did  you  pierce, 

Down  to  this  time. 
Wad  ding  a  Lallan  tongue,  or  Erse, 

In  prose  or  rhyme. 

An'  now,  auld  Cloots,  I  ken  ye 're  thinkin,  ns 

A  certain  Bardie  's  rantin,  drinkin. 
Some  luckless  hour  will  send  him  linkin, 

To  your  black  pit ; 
But  faith!  he'll  turn  a  corner  jinkin, 

An'  cheat  you  yet.  120 

But  fare  you  weel,  auld  Nickie-ben ! 

0  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  an'  men ' ! 
Ye  aiblins  might  —  I  dinna  ken  — 

Still  hae  a  stake  : 

1  'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den,  125 

Ev'n  for  your  sake ! 


DEATH  AND  DOCTOR  HORNBOOK.  21 


DEATH    AND    DOCTOR    HORNBOOK. 

A    TRUE    STORY. 

Some  books  are  lies  frae  end  to  end, 
And  some  great  lies  were  never  pen'd: 
Ev'n  ministers,  they  hae  been  ken'd, 

In  holy  rapture, 
A  rousin  whid  at  times  to  vend  5 

An'  nail 't  wi'  Scripture. 

But  this  that  I  am  gaun  to  tell, 
Which  lately  on  a  night  befell. 
Is  just  as  true  's  the  deil  's  in  hell 

Or  Dublin  city  :  lo 

That  e'er  he  nearer  comes  oursel 

'S  a  muckle  pity. 

The  clachan  yill  had  made  me  canty  — 

I  was  na'  fou,  but  just  had  plenty; 

I  stacher'd  whyles,  but  yet  took  tent  aye  15 

To  free  the  ditches  ; 
An'  hillocks,  stanes,  and  bushes  ken'd  aye 

Frae  ghaists  and  witches. 

The  rising  moon  began  to  glow'r 

The  distant  Cumnock  hills  out-owre;  20 

To  count  her  horns,  wi'  a'  my  pow'r, 

I  set  mysel; 
But  whether  she  had  three  or  four, 

I  could  na  tell. 

I  was  come  round  about  the  hill,  25 

An'  todlin  doun  on  Willie's  mill, 


22 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


Settin  my  staff  wi'  a'  my  skill 
To  keep  me  sicker, 

Tho'  leeward  whiles  against  my  will 
I  took  a  bicker. 

I  there  wi'  Something  did  forgather, 

That  pat  me  in  an  eerie  swither : 

An  awfu'  scythe  out-owre  ae  shouther 

Clear-dangling  hang; 
A  three-taed  leister  on  the  ither 

Lay  large  an'  lang. 

Its  stature  seem'd  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
The  queerest  shape  that  e'er  I  saw. 
For  fient  a  wame  it  had  ava; 

And  then  its  shanks. 
They  were  as  thin,  as  sharp  and  sma' 

As  cheeks  o'  branks. 


30 


35 


40 


*  Guid-een,'  quo'  I ;  '  Friend  !  hae  ye  been  mawin. 
When  ither  folk  are  busy  sawin? ' 

It  seem'd  to  mak  a  kind  o'  stan',  45 

But  naething  spak : 
At  length,  says  I,  '  Friend,  whare  ye  gaun  ? 

Will  ye  go  back  ? ' 

It  spak  right  howe,  —  '  My  name  is  Death, 

But  be  na  fiey'd.'  —  Quoth  I,  '  Guid  faith,  5° 

Ye  're  maybe  come  to  stap  my  breath  ; 

But  tent  me,  billie  : 
I  red  ye  weel,  tak  care  o'  skaith. 

See,  there  's  a  gully  ! ' 

*  Gudeman,'  quo'  he,  *  put  up  your  whittle,  5S 
I  'm  no  design'd  to  try  its  mettle  ; 


DEATH  AND   DOCTOR   HORNBOOK.  23 

But  if  I  did,  I  wad  be  kittle 

To  be  mislear'd  ; 
I  wad  na  mind  it  —  no  that  spittle 

Out-owre  my  beard.'  60 

'  Weel,  weel  ! '  says  I,  '  a  bargain  be  't ; 
Come,  gie  's  your  hand,  an'  sae  we  're  gree  't ; 
We  '11  ease  our  shanks  an'  tak  a  seat, 

Come,  gie 's  your  news  : 
This  while  ye  hae  been  mony  a  gait,  65 

At  mony  a  house.' 

*  Ay,  ay ! '  quo'  he,  an'  shook  his  head, 
'  It 's  e'en  a  lang,  lang  time  indeed 
Sin'  I  began  to  nick  the  thread 

An'  choke  the  breath  :  70 

Folk  maun  do  something  for  their  bread, 
An'  sae  maun  Death. 

'  Sax  thousand  years  are  near-hand  fled 

Sin'  I  was  to  the  butchin  bred. 

An'  mony  a  scheme  in  vain  's  been  laid  75 

To  stap  or  scaur  me  ; 
Till  ane  Hornbook 's  ta'en  up  the  trade, 

An'  faith  !  he  'II  waur  me. 

*  Ye  ken  /ock  Hornbook  i'  the  Clachan  — 

Deil  mak  his  king's-hood  in  a  spleuchan  !  —  80 

He  's  grown  sae  well  acquaint  wi'  Buchan 

An'  ither  chaps, 
The  weans  haud  out  their  fingers  laughin 

And  pouk  my  hips. 

*  See,  here  's  a  scythe,  and  there  's  a  dart —  85 
They  hae  pierc'd  mony  a  gallant  heart  ; 


24 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


But  Doctor  Hornbook  wi'  his  art 

And  cursed  skill 
Has  made  them  baith  no  worth  a  [scart], 

Damn'd  haet  they  '11  kill. 


90 


*  'T  was  but  yestreen,  nae  farther  gaen, 

I  threw  a  noble  throw  at  ane  ; 

Wi'  less,  I  'm  sure,  I  've  hundreds  slain ; 

But  deil-ma-care, 
It  just  play'd  dirl  on  the  bane, 

But  did  nae  main 


95 


^Hornbook  was  by  wi'  ready  art, 
And  had  sae  fortify'd  the  part, 
That  when  I  looked  to  my  dart, 

It  was  sae  blunt, 
Fient  haet  o  't  wad  hae  pierc'd  the  heart 

O'  a  kail-runt. 


100 


'  I  drew  my  scythe  in  sic  a  fury, 
I  nearhand  cowpit  wi'  my  hurry. 
But  yet  the  bauld  Apothecary 

Withstood  the  shock  : 
I  might  as  weel  hae  try'd  a  quarry 

O'  hard  whin  rock. 


los 


'An'  then  a'  doctor's  saws  an'  whittles, 
Of  a'  dimensions,  shapes,  an'  metals, 
A'  kinds  o'  boxes,  mugs,  an'  bottles 

He  's  sure  to  hae  : 
Their  Latin  names  as  fast  he  rattles 

As  A  B  C. 


"5 


120 


DEATH  AND  DOCTOR   HORNBOOK.  25 

'  Calces  o'  fossils,  earths,  and  trees  ; 
True  sal-marinum  o'  the  seas  ; 
The  farina  of  beans  and  peas, 

He  has 't  in  plenty ; 
Aqua-fontis,  - — what  you  please,  125 

He  can  content  ye. 

'  Forbye  some  new,  uncommon  weapons,  — 

Urinus  spiritus  of  capons ; 

Or  mite-horn  shavins,  filins,  scrapins, 

Distill'd/^r  j^,-  13° 

Sal-alkali  o'  midge-tail  clippins. 

An'  mony  mae.' 

*  Wae  's  me  for  JoJmie  Ged's  Hole  now,' 

Quo'  I,  '  if  that  thae  news  be  true! 

His  braw  calf- ward,  whare  gowans  grew  i35 

Sae  white  and  bonie, 
Nae  doubt  they  '11  rive  it  wi'  the  plew ; 

They'll  ruin  Johnie! ' 

The  creature  grain'd  an  eldritch  laugh, 

An'  says,  'Ye  need  na  yoke  the  pleugh,  140 

Kirkyards  will  soon  be  till'd  eneugh, 

Tak  ye  nae  fear  : 
They  '11  a'  be  trench'd  wi'  mony  a  sheugh 

In  twa-three  year. 

'Whare  I  kill'd  ane,  a  fair  strae-death  MS 

By  loss  o'  blood  or  want  of  breath. 
This  night  I  'm  free  to  tak  my  aith. 

That  Hornbook'' s  skill 
Has  clad  a  score  i'  their  last  claith, 

By  drap  and  pill.  '5° 


26 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


*  An  honest  wabster  to  his  trade, 

Whase  wife's  twa  nieves  were  scarce  weel-bred, 

Gat  tippence- worth  to  mend  her  head, 

When  it  was  sair; 
The  wife  slade  cannie  to  her  bed, 

But  ne'er  spak  mair. 


155 


'  A  countra  Laird  had  taen  the  batts, 
Or  some  curmurring  in  his  guts, 
His  only  son  for  Hornbook  sets 

An'  pays  him  well : 
The  lad  for  twa  guid  gimmer-pets 

Was  laird  himsel. 


1 60 


*  A  bonie  lass,  ye  ken'd  her  name. 

Some  ill-brewn  drink  had  hov'd  her  wame : 

She  trusts  hersel,  to  hide  the  shame. 

In  Hornbook's  care ; 
Horn  sent  her  aff  to  her  lang  hame, 

To  hide  it  there. 


165 


'That 's  just  a  swatch  o'  Hornbook's  way; 
Thus  goes  he  on  from  day  to  day, 
Thus  does  he  poison,  kill,  an'  slay, 

An  's  weel  pay'd  for  't ; 

Yet  stops  me  o'  my  lawfu'  prey, 

Wi'  his  damn'd  dirt. 


170 


'  But,  hark !  I  '11  tell  you  of  a  plot, 
Tho'  dinna  ye  be  speakin  o  't ; 
I  '11  nail  the  self-conceited  sot 

As  dead's  a  herrin. 
Niest  time  we  meet,  I  '11  wad  a  groat, 

He  gets  his  f airin ! ' 


175 


180 


TO  JOHN  LA  PR  A  IK.  27 

But  just  as  he  began  to  tell, 

The  auld  kirk-hammer  strak  the  bell 

Some  wee  short  hour  ayont  the  twal, 

Which  rais'd  us  baith  : 
I  took  the  way  that  pleas'd  mysel,  185 

And  sae  did  Death. 


TO    JOHN    LAPRAIK. 

AN    OLD    SCOTTISH   BARD. 

While  briers  and  woodbines  budding  green, 
An'  paitricks  scraichin  loud  at  e'en, 
An'  morning  poussie  whiddin  seen 

Inspire  my  muse, 
This  freedom  in  an  unknown  frien'  5 

I  pray  excuse. 

On  Fasten-e'en  we  had  a  rockin. 

To  ca'  the  crack  and  weave  our  stockin  : 

And  there  was  muckle  fun  and  jokin, 

Ye  need  na  doubt ;  10 

At  length  we  had  a  hearty  yokin 

At  sang-about. 

There  was  ae  sang  amang  the  rest, 

Aboon  them  a'  it  pleas'd  me  best, 

That  some  kind  husband  had  addrest  ^S 

To  some  sweet  wife  : 
It  thirl'd  the  heart-strings  thro'  the  breast 

A'  to  the  life. 


28 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


I  've  scarce  heard  ought  describ'd  sae  weel, 
What  gen'rous,  manly  bosoms  feel  ; 
Thought  I,  "  Can  this  be  Pope,  or  Steele, 

Or  Beattie's  wark  ?  " 
They  tauld  me  't  was  an  odd  kin'  chiel 

About  Muirkirk. 


20 


I  pat  me  fidgin-fain  to  hear  't, 
And  sae  about  him  there  I  spier  't ; 
Then  a'  that  ken'd  him  round  declar'd 

He  had  ingine ; 
That  nane  excell'd  it,  few  cam  near  't, 

It  was  sae  fine  ; 


25 


30 


That,  set  him  to  a  pint  of  ale, 

An'  either  douce  or  merry  tale, 

Or  rhymes  an'  sangs  he  'd  made  himsel. 

Or  witty  catches  — 
'Tween  Inverness  and  Teviotdale 

He  had  few  matches. 


35 


Then  up  I  gat,  an'  swoor  an  aith, 

Tho'  I  should  pawn  my  pleugh  and  graith, 

Or  die  a  cadger  pownie's  death 

At  some  dyke-back, 
A  pint  an'  gill  I  'd  gie  them  baith 

To  hear  your  crack. 


40 


But,  first  an'  foremost,  I  should  tell, 
Amaist  as  soon  as  I  could  spell, 
I  to  the  crambo-jingo  fell, 

Tho'  rude  an'  rough. 
Yet  crooning  to  a  body's  sel 

Does  weel  eneugh. 


TO  JOHN  LAPRAIK.  29 

I  am  nae  Poet,  in  a  sense, 

But  just  a  Rhymer  like  by  chance,  50 

An'  hae  to  learning  nae  pretence  ; 

Yet  what  the  matter  ? 
Whene'er  my  Muse  does  on  me  glance, 

I  jingle  at  her. 

Your  critic-folk  may  cock  their  nose,  55 

And  say,  '  How  can  yOu  e'er  propose. 
You  wha  ken  hardly  verse  frae  prose, 

To  niak  a  sang  ?  ' 
But,  by  your  leave,  my  learned  foes, 

Ye  're  maybe  wrang.  60 

What 's  a'  your  jargon  o'  your  schools, 
Your  Latin  names  for  horns  an'  stools  ? 
If  honest  nature  made  you  fools, 

What  sairs  your  grammars  ? 
Ye  'd  better  taen  up  spades  and  shools,  65 

Or  knappin-hammers. 

A  set  o'  dull,  conceited  hashes 
Confuse  their  brains  in  college  classes  ! 
They  gang  in  stirks  and  come  out  asses, 

Plain  truth  to  speak  ;  70 

An'  syne  they  think  to  climb  Parnassus 

By  dint  o'  Greek  ! 

Gie  me  ae  spark  o'  Nature's  fire, 

That 's  a'  the  learn  in  I  desire  ; 

Then,  tho'  I  drudge  thro'  dub  an'  mire  75 

At  pleugh  or  cart, 
My  Muse,  though  hamely  in  attire, 

May  touch  the  heart. 


30 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


O  for  a  spunk  o'  Allan's  glee, 

Or  Fergusson's,  the  bauld  an'  slee, 

Or  bright  Lapraik's,  my  friend  to  be, 

If  I  can  hit  it  ! 
That  would  be  lear  eneugh  for  me, 

If  I  could  get  it. 


So 


Now,  Sir,  if  ye  hae  friends  enow, 
Tho'  real  friends,  I  b'lieve,  are  few. 
Yet,  if  your  catalogue  be  fou, 

I  'se  no  insist  ; 
But  gif  ye  want  ae  friend  that 's  true, 

I  'm  on  your  list. 


8S 


90 


I  winna  blaw  about  mysel. 

As  ill  I  like  my  fauts  to  tell ; 

But  friends,  an'  folk  that  wish  me  well. 

They  sometimes  roose  me  ; 
Tho'  I  maun  own,  as  mony  still 

As  far  abuse  me. 


95 


There  's  ae  wee  faut  they  whiles  lay  to  me, 
I  like  the  lasses  —  Gude  forgie  me  ! 
For  monie  a  plack  they  wheedle  frae  me, 

At  dance  or  fair  ; 
Maybe  some  ither  thing  they  gie  me 

They  weel  can  spare. 


100 


But  Mauchline  race  or  Mauchline  Fair, 
I  should  be  proud  to  meet  you  there  : 
We  'se  gie  ae  night's  discharge  to  care, 

If  we  forgather. 
And  hae  a  swap  o'  rhyniin-ware 

Wi'  ane  anither. 


105 


TO  JOHN  LAPRAIK.  31 

The  four-gill  chap  we  'se  gar  him  clatter, 

And  kirsen  him  wi'  reekin  water  ;  no 

Syne  we  '11  sit  down  and  tak  our  whitter, 

To  cheer  our  heart ; 
And  faith  !  we  'se  be  acquainted  better 

Before  we  part. 

Awa,  ye  selfish  warly  race,  i^S 

Wha  think  that  havins,  sense  and  grace, 
Ev'n  love  and  friendship  should  give  place 

To  catch-the-plack  ! 
I  dinna  like  to  see  your  face 

Nor  hear  your  crack.  120 

But  ye  whom  social  pleasure  charms. 
Whose  hearts  the  tide  of  kindness  warms, 
Who  hold  your  being  on  the  terms, 

"  Each  aid  the  others," 
Come  to  my  bowl,  come  to  my  arms,  125 

My  friends,  my  brothers  ! 

But  to  conclude  my  lang  epistle. 

As  my  auld  pen  's  worn  to  the  gristle ; 

Twa  lines  frae  you  wad  gar  me  fissle, 

Who  am,  most  fervent,  13° 

While  I  can  either  sing  or  whistle, 

Your  friend  and  servant. 


32  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

TO  WILLIAM  SIMSON, 

OCHILTREE. 

I  GAT  your  letter,  winsome  Willie  ; 
Wi'  gratefu'  heart  I  thank  you  brawlie  ; 
Tho'  I  maun  say  't,  I  wad  be  silly, 

An'  unco  vain, 
Should  I  believe,  my  coaxin  billie,  5 

Your  flatterin  strain. 

But  I  'se  believe  ye  kindly  meant  it, 
I  sud  be  lathe  to  think  ye  hinted 
Ironic  satire,  sidelins  sklented 

On  my  poor  Musie  ;  lo 

Tho'  in  sic  phraisin  terms  ye  've  pen'd  it, 

I  scarce  excuse  ye. 

My  senses  wad  be  in  a  creel. 

Should  I  but  dare  a  hope  to  speel 

Wi'  Allan  or  wi'  Gilbertfield  iS 

The  braes  o'  fame  ; 
Or  Fergusson,  the  writer-chiel, 

A  deathless  name. 

(O  Fergusson  !    thy  glorious  parts 

111  suited  law's  dry,  musty  arts  !  20 

My  curse  upon  your  whunstane  hearts, 

Ye  E'nbrugh  gentry  • 
The  tythe  o'  what  ye  waste  at  cartes 

Wad  stow'd  his  pantry  !) 

Yet  when  a  tale  comes  i'  my  head,  25 

Or  lasses  gie  my  heart  a  screed, 
As  whiles  they  're  like  to  be  my  dead, 
(Oh  sad  disease  !) 


\ 


TO    WILLIAM  SIMSON.  33 

I  kittle  up  my  rustic  reed  : 

It  gies  me  ease.  30 

Auld  Coila  now  may  fidge  fu'  fain, 
She  's  gotten  poets  o'  her  ain  — 
Chiels  wha  their  chanters  winna  hain, 

But  tune  their  lays, 
Till  echoes  a'  resound  again  35 

Her  weel-sung  praise. 

Nae  poet  thought  her  worth  his  while 
To  set  her  name  in  measur'd  style  : 
She  lay  like  some  unken'd-of  isle 

Beside  New  Holland,  40 

Or  whare  wild-meeting  oceans  boil 

Besouth  Magellan. 

Ramsay  and  famous  Fergusson 

Gied  Forth  and  Tay  a  lift  aboon  ; 

Yarrow  and  Tweed  to  mony  a  tune  4S 

Owre  Scotland  rings; 
While  Irvin,  Lugar,  Ayr  an'  Doon 

Naebody  sings. 

Th'  Ilissus,  Tiber,  Thames,  an'  Seine 

Glide  sweet  in  mony  a  tunefu'  line  ;  50 

But,  Willie,  set  your  fit  to  mine 

And  cock  your  crest, 
We  '11  gar  our  streams  and  burnies  shine 

Up  wi'  the  best ! 

We  '11  sing  auld  Coila's  plains  an'  fells,  SS 

Her  moors  red-brown  wi'  heather  bells. 
Her  banks  an'  braes,  her  dens  and  dells, 

Where  glorious  Wallace 
Aft  bure  the  gree,  as  story  tells, 

Frae  Southron  billies.  60 


34  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

At  Wallace'  name  what  Scottish  blood 
But  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood ! 
Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode 

By  Wallace'  side, 
Still  pressing  onward  red-wat-shod,  65 

Or  glorious  dy'd. 

O  sweet  are  Coila's  haughs  an'  woods, 
When  lintwhites  chant  amang  the  buds, 
And  jinkin  hares  in  amorous  whids 

Their  loves  enjoy,  7° 

While  thro'  the  braes  the  cushat  croods 

Wi'  wailfu'  cry  ! 

Ev'n  winter  bleak  has  charms  to  me. 

When  winds  rave  thro'  the  naked  tree  ; 

Or  frosts  on  hills  of  Ochiltree  75 

Are  hoary  gray  ; 
Or  blinding  drifts  wild-furious  flee, 

Dark'ning  the  day  ! 

O  Nature  !  a'  thy  shews  an'  forms 

To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  hae  charms !  80 

Whether  the  summer  kindly  warms 

Wi'  life  an'  light. 
Or  winter  howls  in  gusty  storms 

The  lang,  dark  night ! 

The  Muse,  nae  poet  ever  fand  her,  85 

Till  by  himsel  he  learn'd  to  wander 
Adoun  some  trottin  burn's  meander, 

And  no  think  lang  ; 
O  sweet  to  stray  and  pensive  ponder 

A  heart-felt  sang  ! 

The  warly  race  may  drudge  and  drive, 
Hog-shouther,  jundie,  stretch  an'  strive  : 


THE  HOLY  FAIR.  35 

Let  me  fair  nature's  face  descrive, 

And  I  wi'  pleasure 
Shall  let  the  busy,  grumbling  hive  95 

Bum  owre  their  treasure. 

Fareweel,  my  "  rhyme-composing  brither  "  1 
We  've  been  owre  lang  unken'd  to  ither : 
Now  let  us  lay  our  heads  thegither 

In  love  fraternal  !  ^oo 

May  Envy  wallop  in  a  tether, 

Black  fiend  infernal  ! 

While  Highlandmen  hate  tolls  and  taxes, 

While  moorlan  herds  like  guid  fat  braxies, 

While  Terra  Firma  on  her  axis  ^°5 

Diurnal  turns. 
Count  on  a  friend  in  faith  an'  practice 

In  Robert  Burns. 


THE  HOLY  FAIR. 

A  robe  of  seeming  truth  and  trust 

Hid  crafty  Observation ; 
And  secret  hung,  with  poison'd  crust, 

The  dirk  of  Defamation  ; 
A  mask  that  like  the  gorget  show'd, 

Dye-varying  on  the  pigeon  ; 
And  for  a  mantle  large  and  broad, 

He  wrapt  him  in  Religion. 

Hypocrisy  a-la-mode. 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn, 
When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 

I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn 
An'  snuff  the  caller  air. 


36 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


The  risin'  sun  owre  Galston  muirs 
Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin, 

The  hares  were  hirplin  down  the  furrs, 
The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin 

Fu'  sweet  that  day. 

As  lightsomely  I  glowr'd  abroad 

To  see  a  scene  sae  gay, 
Three  hizzies,  early  at  the  road, 

Cam  skelpin  up  the  way. 
Twa  had  manteeles  o'  dolefu'  black, 

But  ane  wi'  lyart  linin  ; 
The  third,  that  gaed  a  wee  a-back, 

Was  in  the  fashion  shinin 

Fu'  gay  that  day. 

The  twa  appear'd  like  sisters  twin 

In  feature,  form,  an'  claes ; 
Their  visage  wither'd,  lang  an'  thin, 

An'  sour  as  ony  slaes : 
The  third  cam  up,  hap-step-an'-lowp. 

As  light  as  ony  lambie. 
An'  wi'  a  curchie  low  did  stoop. 

As  soon  as  e'er  she  saw  me, 

Fu'  kind  that  day. 

Wi'  bonnet  aff,  quoth  I,  '  Sweet  lass, 

I  think  ye  seem  to  ken  me  ; 
I  'm  sure  I  've  seen  that  bonie  face, 

But  yet  I  canna  name  ye.' 
Quo'  she,  an'  laughin  as  she  spak, 

An'  taks  me  by  the  ban's, 
*  Ye,  for  my  sake,  hae  gien  the  feck 

Of  a'  the  ten  comman's 

A  screed  some  day. 


10 


15 


20 


25 


30 


35 


THE   HOLY  FAIR.  37 

'  My  name  is  Fun  —  your  cronie  dear, 

The  nearest  friend  ye  hae  ; 
An'  this  is  Superstition  here, 

An'  that 's  Hypocrisy.  4° 

I  'm  gaun  to  Mauchline  Holy  Fair, 

To  spend  an  hour  in  daffin  : 
Gin  ye  '11  go  there,  yon  runkl'd  pair. 

We  will  get  famous  laughin 

At  them  this  day.'  45 

Quoth  I,  'With  a'  my  heart,  I'll  do't : 

I  '11  get  my  Sunday's  sark  on, 
An'  meet  you  on  the  holy  spot ; 

Faith,  we 'se  hae  fine  remarkin!' 
Then  I  gaed  hame  at  crowdie-time,  5° 

An'  soon  I  made  me  ready; 
For  roads  were  clad  frae  side  to  side 

Wi'  mony  a  wearie  body 

In  droves  that  day. 

Here  farmers  gash  in  ridin  graith  55 

Gaed  hoddin  by  their  cotters, 
There  swankies  young  in  braw  braid-claith 

Are  springin  owre  the  gutters. 
The  lasses,  skelpin  barefit,  thrang. 

In  silks  an'  scarlets  glitter,  6o 

Wi'  sweet-milk  cheese  in  mony  a  whang. 

An'  farls  bak'd  wi'  butter, 

Fu'  crump  that  day. 

When  by  the  plate  we  set  our  nose, 

Weel  heaped  up  wi'  ha'pence,  65 

A  greedy  glowr  Black  Bonnet  throws. 

An'  we  maun  draw  our  tippence. 


38  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Then  in  we  go  to  see  the  show : 

On  ev'ry  side  they  're  gath'rin, 
Some  carryin  dails,  some  chairs  an'  stools,  7° 

An'  some  are  busy  bleth'rin 

Right  loud  that  day. 

Here  stands  a  shed  to  fend  the  show'rs 

An'  screen  our  countra  gentry  ; 
There  Racer  Jess  an'  twa-three  whores  75 

Are  blinkin  at  the  entry. 
Here  sits  a  raw  o'  tittlin  jads, 

Wi'  heavin  breast  and  bare  neck, 
An'  there  a  batch  o'  wabster  lads, 

Blackguardin  frae  Kilmarnock  8o 

For  fun  this  day. 

Here  some  are  thinkin  on  their  sins. 

An'  some  upo'  their  claes  ; 
Ane  curses  feet  that  fyl'd  his  shins, 

Anither  sighs  and  prays  :  85 

On  this  hand  sits  a  chosen  swatch, 

Wi'  screw'd-up  grace-proud  faces ; 
On  that  a  set  o'  chaps  at  watch, 

Thrang  winkin  on  the  lasses 

To  chairs  that  day.  9° 

O  happy  is  that  man  and  blest ! 

(Nae  wonder  that  it  pride  him  !) 
Whase  ain  dear  lass  that  he  likes  best, 

Comes  clinkin  doun  beside  him  ! 
Wi'  arm  repos'd  on  the  chair  back,  95 

He  sweetly  does  compose  him  ; 
Which  by  degrees  slips  round  her  neck. 

An  's  loof  upon  her  bosom, 

Unken'd  that  day. 


THE  HOLY  FAIR.  39 

Now  a'  the  congregation  o'er  loo 

Is  silent  expectation  ; 
For  Moodie  speels  the  holy  door, 

Wi'  tidings  o'  damnation. 
Should  Hornie,  as  in  ancient  days, 

'Mang  sons  o'  God  present  him,  105 

The  vera  sight  o'  Hoodie's  face 

To's  ain  het  hame  had  sent  him 

Wi'  fright  that  day. 

Hear  how  he  clears  the  points  o'  faith 

Wi'  rattlin  an'  wi'  thumpin  !  no 

Now  meekly  calm,  now  wild  in  wrath 

He's  stampin  an'  he's  jumpin  ! 
His  lengthen'd  chin,  his  turn'd-up  snout. 

His  eldritch  squeal  and  gestures. 
Oh,  how  they  fire  the  heart  devout,  115 

Like  cantharidian  plaisters, 

On  sic  a  day ! 

But  hark !  the  tent  has  chang'd  its  voice : 

There 's  peace  and  rest  nae  langer  ; 
For  a'  the  real  judges  rise,  120 

They  canna  sit  for  anger. 
Smith  opens  out  his  cauld  harangues, 

On  practice  and  on  morals ; 
An'  aff  the  godly  pour  in  thrangs. 

To  gie  the  jars  an'  barrels  125 

A  lift  that  day. 

What  signifies  his  barren  shine 

Of  moral  pow'rs  and  reason  ? 
His  English  style  an'  gesture  fine 

Are  a'  clean  out  o'  season.  130 


40  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Like  Socrates  or  Antonine 

Or  some  auld  pagan  heathen, 
The  moral  man  he  does  define, 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That 's  richt  that  day.        13S 

In  guid  time  comes  an  antidote 

Against  sic  poison'd  nostrum  ; 
For  Peebles,  frae  the  water-fit, 

Ascends  the  holy  rostrum  : 
See,  up  he's  got  the  word  o'  God  140 

An'  meek  an  mim  has  view'd  it, 
While  Common  Sense  has  ta'en  the  road, 

An's  aff,  an'  up  the  Cowgate 

Fast,  fast  that  day. 

Wee  Miller  niest  the  Guard  relieves,  MS 

An'  Orthodoxy  raibles, 
Tho'  in  his  heart  he  weel  believes 

An'  thinks  it  auld  wives'  fables  : 
But  faith  !  the  birkie  wants  a  Manse, 

So  cannilie  he  hums  them  ;  15° 

Altho'  his  carnal  wit  an'  sense 

Like  hafflins-wise  o'ercomes  him 

At  times  that  day. 

Now  butt  an'  ben  the  change-house  fills 

Wi' yill-caup  commentators  :  i55 

Here's  cryin  out  for  bakes  an'  gills. 

An'  there  the  pint-stowp  clatters  ; 
While  thick  an'  thrang,  an'  loud  an'  lang, 

Wi'  logic  an'  wi'  Scripture, 
They  raise  a  din,  that  in  the  end  160 

Is  like  to  breed  a  rupture 

O'  wrath  that  day. 


THE   HOLY  FAIR.  41 

Leeze  me  on  Drink  !  it  gies  us  mair 

Than  either  school  or  college  : 
It  ken'les  wit,  it  waukens  lair,  165 

It  pangs  us  fou  o'  knowledge. 
Be't  whisky-gill  or  penny- wheep, 

Or  ony  stronger  potion. 
It  never  fails,  on  drinkin  deep. 

To  kittle  up  our  notion  17° 

By  night  or  day. 

The  lads  an'  lasses,  blythely  bent 

To  mind  baith  saul  an'  body, 
Sit  round  the  table  weel  content, 

An'  steer  about  the  toddy.  ^75 

On  this  ane's  dress  an'  that  ane's  leuk 

They're  makin  observations; 
While  some  are  cozie  i'  the  neuk. 

An'  formin  assignations 

To  meet  some  day.  180 

But  now  the  Lord's  ain  trumpet  touts, 

Till  a'  the  hills  are  rairin. 
An'  echoes  back  return  the  shouts  — 

Black  Russell  is  na  sparin. 
His  piercing  words,  like  highlan'  swords,  185 

Divide  the  joints  an'  marrow; 
His  talk  o'  hell,  whare  devils  dwell. 

Our  vera  'sauls  does  harrow  ' 

VVi'  fright  that  day. 

A  vast,  unbottom'd,  boundless  pit,  19° 

Fill'd  fou  o'  lowin  brunstane, 
Whase  ragin  flame,  an'  scorchin  heat 

Wad  melt  the  hardest  whun-stane! 


42 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


The  half-asleep  start  up  wi'  fear 

An'  think  they  hear  it  roarin,  195 

When  presently  it  does  appear 

'Twas  but  some  neibor  snorin, 

Asleep  that  day. 

'Twad  be  owre  lang  a  tale,  to  tell 

How  mony  stories  past,  200 

An'  how  they  crouded  to  the  yill, 

When  they  were  a'  dismist: 
How  drink  gaed  round  in  cogs  and  caups 

Amang  the  furms  an'  benches : 
An'  cheese  and  bread  frae  women's  laps  205 

Was  dealt  about  in  lunches 

An'  dauds  that  day. 

In  comes  a  gaucie,  gash  guidwife 

An'  sits  down  by  the  fire, 
Syne  draws  her  kebbuck  an'  her  knife;  210 

The  lasses  they  are  shyer  : 
The  auld  guidmen  about  the  grace 

Frae  side  to  side  they  bother, 
Till  some  ane  by  his  bonnet  lays, 

And  gi'es  them 't  like  a  tether  215 

Fu'  lang  that  day. 

Waesucks !  for  him  that  gets  nae  lass. 

Or  lasses  that  hae  naething ! 
Sma'  need  has  he  to  say  a  grace. 

Or  melvie  his  braw  claithing  !  220 

O  wives,  be  mindfu'  ance  yoursel 

How  bonie  lads  ye  wanted. 
An'  dinna  for  a  kebbuck-heel 

Let  lasses  be  affronted 

On  sic  a  day !  225 


TO    THE  REV.  JOHN  M'MATH.  43 

Now  Clinkumbell,  wi'  rattlin  tow, 

Begins  to  jow  an'  croon  ; 
Some  swagger  hame  the  best  they  dow, 

Some  wait  the  afternoon. 
At  slaps  the  billies  halt  a  blink,  230 

Till  lasses  strip  their  shoon : 
Wi'  faith  an'  hope,  an'  love  an'  drink. 

They  're  a'  in  famous  tune 

For  crack  that  day. 

How  monie  hearts  this  day  converts  235 

O'  sinners  and  o'  lasses! 
Their  hearts  o'  stane,  gin  night,  are  gane 

As  saft  as  ony  flesh  is. 
There's  some  are  fou  o'  love  divine, 

There's  some  are  fou  o'  brandy;  24° 

An'  monie  jobs  that  day  begin. 

May  end  in  houghmagandie 

Some  ither  day. 


TO  THE   REV.   JOHN   M'MATH. 

While  at  the  stook  the  shearers  cow'r 
To  shun  the  bitter  blaudin  show'r. 
Or  in  gulravage  rinnin  scowr 

To  pass  the  time, 
To  you  I  dedicate  the  hour  S 

In  idle  rhyme. 

My  Musie,  tir'd  wi'  monie  a  sonnet 

On  gown,  an'  ban',  an'  douse  black  bonnet, 

Is  grown  right  eerie  now  she's  done  it, 

Lest  they  shou'd  blame  her,       10 


44  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

An'  rouse  their  holy  thunder  on  it, 

And  anathem  her. 

I  own  'twas  rash,  an'  rather  hardy. 

That  I,  a  simple  countra  bardie, 

Shou'd  meddle  wi'  a  pack  sae  sturdy,  iS 

Wha,  if  they  ken  me, 
Can  easy  wi'  a  single  wordie 

Lowse  hell  upon  me. 

But  I  gae  mad  at  their  grimaces. 

Their  sighin,  cantin,  grace-proud  faces,  20 

Their  three-mile  prayers  and  hauf-mile  graces, 

Their  raxin  conscience, 
Whase  greed,  revenge,  an'  pride  disgraces 

Waur  nor  their  nonsense. 

There's  Gau'n,  misca't  waur  than  a  beast,  25 

Wha  has  mair  honour  in  his  breast 
Than  monie  scores  as  guid's  the  priest 

Wha  sae  abus'd  him ; 
An'  may  a  bard  no  crack  his  jest 

What  way  they  've  used  him  ?      3° 

See  him,  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need, 
The  gentleman  in  word  an'  deed  — 
An'  shall  his  fame  an'  honour  bleed 

By  worthless  skellums. 
An'  no  a  Muse  erect  her  head  35 

To  cowe  the  blellums? 

O  Pope,  had  I  thy  satire's  darts 
To  gie  the  rascals  their  deserts, 
I'd  rip  their  rotten,  hollow  hearts, 

And  tell  aloud  4° 

Their  jugglin  hocus-pocus  arts 

To  cheat  the  crowd. 


I 


TO    THE  REV.  JOHN  M'MATH.  45 

God  knows,  I  'm  no  the  thing  I  should  be, 

Nor  am  I  even  the  thing  I  could  be, 

But  twenty  times  I  rather  would  be  45 

An  atheist  clean, 
Than  under  gospel  colours  hid  be 

Just  for  a  screen. 

An  honest  man  may  like  a  glass, 

An  honest  man  may  like  a  lass,  50 

But  mean  revenge  and  malice  fause 

He  '11  still  disdain, 
And  then  cry  zeal  for  gospel  laws. 

Like  some  we  ken. 

They  tak  religion  in  their  mouth ;  55 

They  talk  o'  mercy,  grace,  an'  truth  — 
For  what  ?  to  gie  their  malice  skouth 

On  some  puir  wight, 
An'  hunt  him  down,  o'er  right  an'  ruth, 

To  ruin  straight.  60 

All  hail.  Religion  !  maid  divine  ! 
Pardon  a  Muse  sae  mean  as  mine, 
Who  in  her  rough  imperfect  line 

Thus  daurs  to  name  thee 
To  stigmatize  false  friends  of  thine  65 

Can  ne'er  defame  thee, 

Tho'  blotcht  an'  foul  wi'  monie  a  stain. 

An'  far  unworthy  of  thy  train, 

With  trembling  voice  I  tune  my  strain 

To  join  with  those  7° 

Who  boldly  daur  thy  cause  maintain 

In  spite  o'  foes, 


46 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


In  spite  o'  crowds,  in  spite  o'  mobs, 

In  spite  of  undermining  jobs, 

In  spite  o'  dark  banditti  stabs  75 

At  worth  an'  merit, 
By  scoundrels,  even  wi'  holy  robes, 

But  hellish  spirit. 

O  Ayr !  my  dear,  my  native  ground ! 

Within  thy  presbyterial  bound  80 

A  candid  lib'ral  band  is  found 

Of  public  teachers, 
As  men,  as  Christians  too,  renown'd, 

An'  manly  preachers. 

Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  nam'd,  85 

Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  fam'd; 

An'  some,  by  whom  your  doctrine  's  blam'd 

(Which  gies  ye  honour). 
Even,  sir,  by  them  your  heart 's  esteem'd 

An'  winning  manner.  90 

Pardon  this  freedom  I  have  ta'en. 
An'  if  impertinent  I  've  been. 
Impute  it  not,  good  sir,  in  ane 

Whase  heart  ne'er  wrang'd  ye, 
But  to  his  utmost  would  befrien'  95 

Ought  that  belang'd  ye. 


THE    BRAES   O'   BALLOCHMYLE. 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen. 
The  flowers  decay'd  on  Catrine  lea, 

Nae  lav'rock  sang  on  hillock  green. 
But  nature  sicken'd  on  the  ee. 


TO   A    MOUSE.  47 

Thro'  faded  groves  Maria  sang,  5 

Hersel  in  beauty's  bloom  the  while, 

And  aye  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang, 
Fareweel  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle  ! 

Low  in  your  wintry  beds,  ye  flowers, 

Again  ye '11  flourish  fresh  and  fair;  lo 

Ye  birdies,  dumb  in  with'rin  bowers. 

Again  ye  '11  charm  the  vocal  air. 
But  here,  alas !  for  me  nae  mair 

Shall  birdie  charm,  or  flow'ret  smile, 
Fareweel  the  bonie  banks  of  Ayr,  15 

Fareweel,  fareweel !  sweet  Ballochmyle ! 


TO   A   MOUSE, 

ON   TURNING   UP   HER   NEST   WITH   THE   PLOUGH, 
NOVEMBER,    I785. 

Wee,  sleekit,  cowrin,  tim'rous  beastie, 
Oh,  what  a  panic's  in  thy  breastie  ! 
Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hasty 

Wi'  bickerin  brattle ! 
I  wad  be  laith  to  rin  an'  chase  thee  5 

Wi'  murd'rin  pattle  ! 

I'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 
Has  broken  nature's  social  union. 
An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion 

Which  makes  thee  startle  lo 

At  me,  thy  poor  earth-born  companion, 

An'  fellow-mortal ! 


48  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

I  doubt  na,  whyles,  but  thou  may  thieve : 

What  then  ?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun  live ! 

A  daimen  icker  in  a  thrave  iS 

'S  a  sma'  request ; 
I'll  get  a  blessin  wi'  the  lave, 

An'  never  miss  't ! 

Thy  wee  bit  housie,  too,  in  ruin ! 

Its  silly  wa's  the  win's  are  strewin  !  20 

An'  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane, 

O'  foggage  green ! 
An'  bleak  December's  winds  ensuin 

Baith  snell  an'  keen ! 

Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  and  waste,  25 

An'  weary  winter  comin  fast. 
An'  cozie  here  beneath  the  blast 

Thou  thought  to  dwell, 
Till  crash  !  the  cruel  coulter  past 

Out  thro'  thy  cell.  3° 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  an'  stibble 
Has  cost  thee  mony  a  weary  nibble ! 
Now  thou's  turn'd  out  for  a'  thy  trouble, 

But  house  or  hald, 
To  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble  35 

An'  cranreuch  cauld ! 

But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane 
In  proving  foresight  may  be  vain: 
The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 

Gang  aft  a-gley,  40j 

An'  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  an'  pain 

For  promis'd  joy. 


THE    COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT.  49 

Still  thou  art  blest,  compar'd  wi'  me ! 

The  present  only  toucheth  thee  : 

But,  och!   I  backward  cast  my  ee  45 

On  prospects  drear ! 
An'  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  an'  fear  ! 


THE   COTTER'S    SATURDAY    NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED  TO  ROBERT  AIKEN,  ESQ. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure ; 
Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile, 

The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor.  —  Gray. 

My  lov'd,  my  honour'd,  much  respected  friend ! 

No  mercenary  bard  his  homage  pays  ; 
With  honest  pride,  I  scorn  each  selfish  end  : 

My  dearest  meed  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise. 

To  you  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  lays,  S 

The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequester'd  scene  ; 

The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways ; 
What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have  been  ; 
Ah  !  tho'  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier  there,  I  ween  ! 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh,  lo 

The  short'ning  winter  day  is  near  a  close ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh, 

The  black'ning  trains  o'  craws  to  their  repose  ; 

The  toil-worn  Cotter  frae  his  labour  goes,  — 
This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end,  —  iS 

Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes. 
Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  hameward  bend. 


50  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree  ;  20 

Th'  expectant  wee-things,  toddlin,  stacher  through 

To  meet  their  dad,  wi'  flichterin  noise  an'  glee. 

His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinkin  bonilie, 
His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thrifty  wifie's  smile, 

The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee,  25 

Does  a'  his  weary  kiaugh  and  care  beguile, 
An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labour  an'  his  toil. 

Belyve,  the  elder  bairns  come  drappin  in. 
At  service  out  amang  the  farmers  roun'; 

Some  ca  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin  30 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neibor  toun : 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman-grown, 

In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in  her  ee. 

Comes  hame,  perhaps  to  shew  a  braw  new  gown, 

Or  deposite  her  sair-won  penny-fee,  35 

To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

With  joy  unfeign'd  brothers  and  sisters  meet, 
An'  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  spiers: 

The  social  hours,  swift-wing'd,  unnotic'd  fleet ; 

Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears.  40 

The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years ; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view ; 

The  mother,  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  sheers, 

Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel  's  the  new ; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due.  45 

Their  master's  an'  their  mistress's  command 

The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey ; 
An'  mind  their  labours  wi'  an  eydent  hand. 

An'  ne'er,  tho'  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk  or  play: 


THE    COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT.  51 

"An'  O  !   be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway,  50 

An'  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  an'  night ! 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 
Implore  His  counsel  and  assisting  might : 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright ! " 

But  hark  !  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door.  55 

Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o'  the  same, 
Tells  how  a  neibor  lad  cam  o'er  the  moor, 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 

The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 
Sparkle  in  Jenny's  ee,  and  flush  her  cheek  ;  60 

Wi'  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  inquires  his  name, 
While  Jenny  hafflins  is  afraid  to  speak  ; 
Weel  pleas'd  the  mother  hears  it's  nae  wild  worthless  rake. 

Wi'  kindly  welcome  Jenny  brings  him  ben, 

A  strappin  youth  ;  he  takes  the  mother's  eye  ;  65 

Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill  taen  ; 

The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs,  and  kye. 

The  youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi'  joy. 
But,  blate  and  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  behave  ; 

The  mother  wi'  a  woman's  wiles  can  spy  70 

What  maks  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  an'  sae  grave, 
Weel-pleas'd  to  think  her  bairn's  respected  like  the  lave. 

O  happy  love  !  where  love  like  this  is  found  ! 

O  heart-felt  raptures  !  bliss  beyond  compare  ! 
I've  pacbd  much  this  weary,  mortal  round,    '  75 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare  — 

"If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare, 
One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 

'T  is  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair. 
In  other's  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale,  80 

Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  ev'ninggale." 


'to  fc>' 


52  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Is  there,  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart, 
A  wretch  !  a  villain  !  lost  to  love  and  truth ! 

That  can  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth?  85 

Curse  on  his  perjur'd  arts  !  dissembling  smooth  ! 

Are  honour,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exil'd? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth. 

Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their  child. 
Then  paints  the  ruin'd  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild?      9° 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

The  halesome  parritch,  chief  of  Scotia's  food ; 
The  sowpe  their  only  hawkie  does  aiford, 

That  yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cud. 

The  dame  brings  forth,  in  compUmental  mood,  95 

To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hain'd  kebbuck  fell, 

An'  aft  he's  prest,  an'  aft  he  ca's  it  guid; 
The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell, 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell. 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face,  100 

They  round  the  ingle  form  a  circle  wide  ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er  with  patriarchal  grace 

The  big  ha'-bible,  ance  his  father's  pride ; 

His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside. 
His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  and  bare ;  105 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 
He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care ; 
And,  "  Let  us  worship  God,"  he  says  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise ; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim:  "o 

Perhaps  Dundee's  wild-warbling  measures  rise. 
Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  of  the  name, 
Or  noble  Elgin  beets  the  heaven-ward  flame, 


THE    COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIG  FIT.  53 

The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays. 

Compar'd  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame;  "S 

The  tickl'd  ear  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise  ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page,  — 

How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high; 
Or  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage  120 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny; 

Or  how  the  royal  bard  did  groaning  lie 
Beneath  the  stroke  of  heaven's  avenging  ire  ; 

Or  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry ; 
Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild,  seraphic  fire  ;  125 

Or  other  holy  seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme,  — 
How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed; 

How  He,  who  bore  in  heav'n  the  second  name, 

Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  His  head:  130 

How  His  first  followers  and  servants  sped; 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land: 
How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished. 

Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand, 
And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronounced  by  Heav'n's 

command.  13S 

Then  kneeling' down  to  Heaven's  eternal  King, 
The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays: 

Hope  "springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing," 
That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days: 
There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays,  140 

No  more  to  sigh  or  shed  the  bitter  tear, 
Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise, 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear, 
While  circling  Time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 


54  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Compar'd  with  this,  how  poor  Religion's  pride  145 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method  and  of  art, 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide 

Devotion's  ev'ry  grace  except  the  heart ! 

The  Pow'r,  incens'd,  the  pageant  will  desert, 
The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole  ;  150 

But  haply  in  some  cottage  far  apart 
May  hear,  well  pleased,  the  language  of  the  soul, 
And  in  His  book  of  life  the  inmates  poor  enrol. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  sev'ral  way; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest;  iS5 

The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay. 

And  proffer  up  to  Heav'n  the  warm  request. 

That  He,  who  stills  the  raven's  clam'rous  nest 
And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flow'ry  pride. 

Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best,  160 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide ; 
But  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs. 
That  makes  her  lov'd  at  home,  rever'd  abroad: 

Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings,  165 

"An  honest  man  's  the  noblest  work  of  God": 
And  certes,  in  fair  Virtue's  heavenly  road, 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind: 

What  is  a  lordling's  pomp?  a  cumbrous  load, 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind,  170 

Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  refin'd! 

O  Scotia!  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent ! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content !    i75 


HALLOWEEN.  55 

And,  oh !  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 
From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile! 

Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 
A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-lov'd  isle.        i8o 

O  Thou!  who  pour'd  the  patriotic  tide 

That  stream'd  thro'  Wallace's  undaunted  heart. 

Who  dar'd  to  nobly  stem  tyrannic  pride. 
Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part,  — 
(The  patriot's  God  peculiarly  thou  art,  185 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward!) 
O  never,  never  Scotia's  realm  desert. 

But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot-bard. 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard! 


HALLOWEEN. 

Upon  that  night,  when  fairies  light 

On  Cassilis  Downans  dance. 
Or  owre  the  lays  in  splendid  blaze 

On  sprightly  coursers  prance, 
Or  for  Colean  the  rout  is  taen  5 

Beneath  the  moon's  pale  beams. 
There  up  the  Cove  to  stray  an'  rove, 

Amang  the  rocks  and  streams 

To  sport  that  night,  — 

Amang  the  bonie,  winding  banks,  ^° 

Where  Doon  rins  wimplin  clear, 
Where  Bruce  ance  rul'd  the  martial  ranks 

An'  shook  his  Carrick  spear, 


56  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Some  merry,  friendly  countra  folks 

Together  did  convene,  15 

To  burn  their  nits,  an'  pou  their  stocks, 

An'  haud  their  Halloween 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 

The  lasses  feat  an'  cleanly  neat, 

Mair  braw  than  when  they're  fine  ;  20 

Their  faces  blythe  fu'  sweetly  kythe 

Hearts  leal  an'  warm  an'  kin  : 
The  lads  sae  trig,  wi'  wooer-babs 

Weel  knotted  on  their  garten, 
Some  unco  blate,  an'  some  wi'  gabs,  25 

Gar  lasses'  hearts  gang  startin 

Whyles  fast  at  night. 

Then  first  an'  foremost,  thro'  the  kail 

Their  stocks  maun  a'  be  sought  ance  : 
They  steek  their  een,  an'  grape  an'  wale  30 

For  muckle  anes  an'  straught  anes. 
Poor  hav'rel  Will  fell  aff  the  drift, 

An'  wander'd  thro'  the  bow-kail, 
An'  pou't,  for  want  o'  better  shift, 

A  runt  was  like  a  sow-tail  35 

Sae  bow't  that  night. 

Then,  straught  or  crooked,  yird  or  nana. 

They  roar  and  cry  a'  throu'ther  ; 
The  vera  wee-things  toddlin  rin 

Wi'  stocks  out-owre  their  shouther  :  40 

An'  gif  the  custoc's  sweet  or  sour, 

Wi'  joctelegs  they  taste  them  ; 
Syne  coziely,  aboon  the  door, 

Wi'  cannie  care,  they've  placed  them 

To  lie  that  night.  45 


HALLOWEEN.  57 

The  lasses  staw  frae  'mang  them  a' 

To  pou  their  stalks  o'  corn  ; 
But  Rab  slips  out,  and  jinks  about, 

Behint  the  muckle  thorn  : 
He  grippet  Nelly  hard  an'  fast,  50 

Loud  skirl'd  a'  the  lasses ; 
But  her  tap-pickle  maist  was  lost 

When  kiutlen  i'  the  fause-house 
Wi'  him  that  night. 

The  auld  guidwife's  weel-hoordit  nits  55 

Are  round  an'  round  divided. 
An'  monie  lads'  and  lasses'  fates 

Are  there  that  night  decided  : 
Some  kindle  couthie  side  by  side, 

An'  burn  thegither  trimly ;  60 

Some  start  awa  wi'  saucy  pride. 

An'  jump  out-owre  the  chimlie 
Fu'  high  that  night. 

Jean  slips  in  twa,  wi'  tentie  ee ; 

Wha  't  was,  she  wadna  tell ;  65 

But  this  is  Jock,  and  this  is  me, 

She  says  in  to  hersel : 
He  bleez'd  owre  her,  an'  she  owre  him, 

As  they  wad  never  mair  part; 
Till  fuff!  he  started  up  the  lum,  7° 

An'  Jean  had  e'en  a  sair  heart 
To  see  't  that  night. 

Poor  Willie,  wi'  his  bow-kail  runt, 

Was  brunt  wi'  primsie,  Mallie, 
An'  Mary  nae  doubt  took  the  drunt,  75 

To  be  compar'd  to  Willie  : 


58  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Mall's  nit  lap  out  wi'  pridefu'  fling, 

An'  her  ain  fit,  it  brunt  it ; 
While  Willie  lap,  an'  swoor  by  jing, 

'T  was  just  the  way  he  wanted  80 

To  be  that  night. 

Nell  had  the  fause-house  in  her  min'; 

She  pits  hersel  and  Rab  in  : 
In  loving  bleeze  they  sweetly  join, 

Till  white  in  ase  they're  sabbin.  85 

Nell's  heart  was  dancin  at  the  view, 

She  whisper'd  Rab  to  leuk  for  't : 
Rab  stownlins  prie'd  her  bonie  mou 

Fu'  cozie  in  the  neuk  for  't. 

Unseen  that  night.  90 

But  Merran  sat  behint  their  backs. 

Her  thoughts  on  Andrew  Bell; 
She  lea'es  them  gashin  at  their  cracks, 

An'  slips  out  by  hersel: 
She  through  the  yard  the  nearest  taks  95 

An'  to  the  kiln  she  goes  then, 
An'  darklins  graipet  for  the  bauks. 

An'  in  the  blue-clue  throws  then. 
Right  fear't  that  night. 

And  aye  she  win't  and  aye  she  swat,  100 

I  wat  she  made  nae  jaukin: 
Till  something  held  within  the  pat, 

Guid  Lord!  but  she  was  quaukin'! 
But  whether  't  was  the  deil  himsel. 

Or  whether  't  was  a  bauk-en',  105 

Or  whether  it  was  Andrew  Bell, 

She  didna  wait  on  talkin 

To  spier  that  night. 


HALLOWEEN.  59 

Wee  Jenny  to  her  grannie  says, 

"Will  ye  go  wi'  me,  grannie?  "o 

I  '11  eat  the  apple  at  the  glass, 

I  gat  frae  uncle  Johnnie  "  : 
She  fuff't  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a  lunt, 

In  wrath  she  was  sae  vap'rin, 
She  noticed  na  an  aizle  brunt  i^S 

Her  braw  new  worset  apron 

Out  thro'  that  night. 

"  Ye  little  skelpie-limmer's  face ! 
I  daur  you  try  sic  sportin. 
As  seek  the  foul  Thief  ony  place,  *2o 

For  him  to  spae  your  fortune : 
Nae  doubt  but  ye  may  get  a  sight ! 

Great  cause  ye  hae  to  fear  it ; 
For  monie  a  ane  has  got  a  fright. 

An'  liv'd  an'  died  deleeret,  125 

On  sic  a  night. 

"  Ae  hairst  afore  the  Sherra-moor, 
I  min  't  as  weel  's  yestreen, 
I  was  a  gilpey  then,  I  'm  sure 

I  was  na  past  fyfteen:  13° 

The  simmer  had  been  cauld  an'  wat 

An'  stuff  was  unco'  green; 
An'  ay  a  rantin  kirn  we  gat, 
An'  just  on  Halloween 

It  fell  that  night,  135 

"  Our  stibble-rig  was  Rab  M'Graen, 
A  clever,  sturdy  fallow  ; 
His  son  gat  Eppie  Sim  wi'  wean, 
That  liv'd  in  Achmacalla; 


60  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

He  gat  hemp-seed,  I  mind  it  weel,  140 

An'  he  made  unco  light  o  't ; 
But  monie  a  day  was  by  himsel, 

He  was  sae  sairly  frighted 

That  vera  night." 

■ 

Then  up  gat  fechtin  Jamie  Fleck,  145 

An'  he  swoor  by  his  conscience, 
That  he  could  saw  hemp-seed  a  peck; 

For  it  was  a'  but  nonsense  : 
The  auld  guidman  raught  down  the  pock. 

An'  out  a  handfu'  gied  him  ;  150 

Syne  bad  him  slip  frae  'mang  the  folk, 

Sometime  when  nae  ane  see'd  him, 
An'  try  't  that  night. 

He  marches  thro'  amang  the  stacks, 

Tho'  he  was  something  sturtin;  155 

The  graip  he  for  a  harrow  taks. 

And  haurls  at  his  curpin ; 
And  ev'ry  now  and  then  he  says, 

"  Hempseed,  I  saw  thee. 
And  her  that  is  to  be  my  lass,  i6c> 

Come  after  me,  and  draw  thee 
As  fast  this  night." 

He  whistled  up  Lord  Lennox'  march 

To  keep  his  courage  cheery; 
Altho'  his  hair  began  to  arch,  165 

He  was  sae  fley'd  and  eerie  : 
Till  presently  he  hears  a  squeak, 

And  then  a  grane  and  gruntle ; 
He  by  his  shouther  gae  a  keek, 

And  tumbl'd  wi'  a  wintle  170 

Out-owre  that  night. 


HALLOWEEN.  61 

He  roar'd  a  horrid  murder  shout 

In  dreadfu'  desperation  ! 
And  young  and  auld  cam'  rinnin  out 

To  hear  the  sad  narration  :  175 

He  swoor  'twas  hilchin  Jean  M'Craw, 

Or  crouchie  Merran  Humphie  ; 
Till,  stop !  she  trotted  thro'  them  a', 

And  wha  was  it  but  grumphie 

Asteer  that  night?  180 

Meg  fain  wad  to  the  barn  gaen 

To  winn  three  wechts  o'  naething  ; 
But  for  to  meet  the  deil  her  lane, 

She  pat  but  little  faith  in : 
She  gies  the  herd  a  pickle  nits  185 

And  twa  red-cheekit  apples 
To  watch,  while  for  the  barn  she  sets 

In  hopes  to  see  Tam  Kipples 
That  vera  night. 

She  turns  the  key  wi'  cannie  thraw  190 

An'  owre  the  threshold  ventures; 
But  first  on  Sawnie  gies  a  ca'. 

Syne  bauldly  in  she  enters  ; 
A  ratton  rattl'd  up  the  wa', 

An'  she  cry'd,  Lord  preserve  her !  195 

An'  ran  thro'  midden-hole  an'  a'. 

An'  pray'd  wi'  zeal  an'  fervour 
Fu'  fast  that  night. 

They  hoy't  out  Will  wi'  sair  advice  ; 

They  hecht  him  some  fine  braw  ane  ;  200 

It  chanced  the  stack  he  faddom't  thrice 

Was  timmer-propt  for  thrawin  : 


62  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

He  taks  a  swirlie,  auld  moss-oak 
For  some  black,  grousome  carlin  ; 

An'  loot  a  winze,  an'  drew  a  stroke,  205 

Till  skin  in  blypes  cam  haurlin 

Aff  's  nieves  that  night. 

A  wanton  widow  Leezie  was. 

As  cantie  as  a  kittlin  : 
But  och  !  that  night  amang  the  shaws  210 

She  gat  a  fearfu'  settlin! 
She  thro'  the  whins  an'  by  the  cairn 

An'  owre  the  hill  gaed  scrievin, 
Whare  three  lairds'  lands  met  at  a  burn, 

To  dip  her  left  sark-sleeve  in,  215 

Was  bent  that  night. 

Whyles  owre  a  linn  the  burnie  plays, 

As  thro'  the  glen  it  wimpl't ; 
Whyles  round  a  rocky  scar  it  strays ; 

Whyles  in  a  wiel  it  dimpl't ;  220 

Whyles  glitter'd  to  the  nightly  rays, 

Wi'  bickering,  dancing  dazzle  ; 
Whyles  cookit  underneath  the  braes 

Below  the  spreading  hazel 

Unseen  that  night.  225 

Amang  the  brachens  on  the  brae. 

Between  her  an'  the  moon, 
The  deil,  or  else  an  outler  quey, 

Gat  up  an'  gae  a  croon  : 
Poor  Leezie's  heart  maist  lap  the  hool;  230 

Near  lav'rock-height  she  jumpet, 
But  mist  a  fit,  an'  in  the  pool 

Out-owre  the  lugs  she  plumpet 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night. 


SCOTCH  DRINK.  63 

In  order  on  the  clean  hearth-stane  ^ZS 

The  luggies  three  are  ranged ; 
And  ev'ry  time  great  care  is  taen, 

To  see  them  duly  changed : 
Auld  uncle  John,  wha  wedlock's  joys 

Sin'  Mar's-year  did  desire,  240 

Because  he  gat  the  toom  dish  thrice, 

He  heav'd  them  on  the  fire 

In  wrath  that  night. 

Wi'  merry  sangs,  and  friendly  cracks, 

I  wat  they  did  na  weary  ;  245 

And  unco  tales,  an'  funnie  jokes,  — 

Their  sports  were  cheap  and  cheery : 
Till  butter'd  so'ns  wi'  fragrant  lunt 

Set  a'  their  gabs  a-steerin  ; 
Syne  wi'  a  social  glass  o'  strunt  250 

They  parted  aff  careerin 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 


SCOTCH    DRINK. 

Gie  him  strong  drink  until  he  wink, 

That 's  sinking  in  despair  ; 
And  liquor  guid  to  fire  his  bluid, 

That  "s  prest  wi'  grief  and  care : 
There  let  him  bouse,  and  deep  carouse, 

Wi'  bumpers  flowing  o'er, 
Till  he  forgets  his  loves  or  debts, 

And  minds  his  griefs  no  more. 

Solomon's  Proverbs,  xxxi.  6,  7. 

Let  Other  poets  raise  a  fracas 

'Bout  vines,  and  wines,  and  drucken  Bacchus, 

And  crabbit  names  and  stories  wrack  us. 


64  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

And  grate  our  lug : 
I  sing  the  juice  Scotch  bear  can  mak  us,  5 

In  glass  or  jug. 

Oh  thou,  my  Muse  !  guid  auld  Scotch  drink  ! 
Whether  thro'  wimplin  worms  thou  jink, 
Or,  richly  brown,  ream  o'er  the  brink 

In  glorious  faem,  lo 

Inspire  me  till  I  lisp  and  wink, 

To  sing  thy  name ! 

Let  husky  wheat  the  haughs  adorn, 

An'  aits  set  up  their  awnie  horn, 

An'  pease  and  beans  at  e'en  or  morn  iS 

Perfume  the  plain : 
Leeze  me  on  thee,  John  Barleycorn, 
Thou  king  o'  grain  ! 

On  thee  aft  Scotland  chows  her  cood, 

In  souple  scones,  the  wale  o'  food !  20 

Or  tumblin  in  the  boiling  flood 

Wi'  kail  an'  beef ; 
But  when  thou  pours  thy  strong  heart's  blood, 

There  thou  shines  chief. 

Food  fills  the  wame,  an'  keeps  us  livin  ;  25 

Tho'  life  's  a  gift  no  worth  receivin, 
When  heavy-dragg'd  wi'  pine  an'  grievin ; 

But  oil'd  by  thee, 
The  wheels  o'  life  gae  down-hill  scrievin 

Wi'  rattlin  glee.  3° 

Thou  clears  the  head  o'  doited  Lear ; 
Thou  cheers  the  heart  o'  drooping  Care ; 
Thou  strings  the  nerves  o'  Labour  sair 


SCOTCH  DRINK.  65 

At 's  weary  toil : 
Thou  even  brightens  dark  Despair  35 

Wi'  gloomy  smile. 

Aft,  clad  in  massy  siller  weed, 
Wi'  gentles  thou  erects  thy  head ; 
Yet  humbly  kind  in  time  o'  need, 

The  poor  man's  wine,  40 

His  wee  drap  parritch  or  his  bread 

Thou  kitchens  fine. 

Thou  art  the  life  o'  public  haunts ; 

But  thee,  what  were  our  fairs  and  rants .'' 

Ev'n  godly  meetings  o'  the  saunts,  45 

By  thee  inspir'd. 
When  gaping  they  besiege  the  tents, 

Are  doubly  fir'd. 

That  merry  night  we  get  the  corn  in, 

O  sweetly,  then,  thou  reams  the  horn  in !  50 

Or  reekin  on  a  New- Year  mornin 

In  cog  or  bicker. 
An'  just  a  wee  drap  sp'ritual  burn  in, 

An'  gusty  sucker ! 

When  Vulcan  gies  his  bellows  breath,  55 

And  ploughmen  gather  wi'  their  graith, 
O  rare !  to  see  thee  fizz  and  freath 

I'  th'  lugget  caup  ! 
Then  Burnewin  comes  on  like  death 

At  ev'ry  chaup.  60 

Nae  mercy,  then,  for  airn  or  steel ; 
The  brawnie,  bainie,  ploughman  chiel 
Brings  hard  owrehip  wi'  sturdy  wheel 


66  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

The  strong  forehammer, 
Till  block  and  studdie  ring  an'  reel  65 

Wi'  dinsome  clamour. 

When  skirlin  weanies  see  the  light, 
Thou  maks  the  gossips  clatter  bright, 
How  f umblin  cuifs  their  dearies  slight ; 

Wae  worth  the  name  !  70 

Nae  howdy  gets  a  social  night, 

Or  plack  frae  them. 

When  neibors  anger  at  a  plea, 

An'  just  as  wud  as  wud  can  be, 

How  easy  can  the  barley  bree  75 

Cement  the  quarrel ! 
It 's  aye  the  cheapest  lawyer's  fee 

To  taste  the  barrel, 

Alake  !  that  e'er  my  Muse  has  reason 

To  wyte  her  countrymen  wi'  treason!  80 

But  mony  daily  weet  their  weason 

Wi'  liquors  nice, 
An'  hardly  in  a  winter's  season 

E'er  spier  her  price. 

Wae  worth  that  brandy,  burning  trash !  85 

Fell  source  o'  mony  a  pain  an'  brash! 
Twins  mony  a  poor,  doylt,  drucken  hash 

O'  half  his  days  ; 
An'  sends,  beside,  auld  Scotland's  cash 

To  her  warst  faes.  90 

Ye  Scots,  wha  wish  auld  Scotland  well, 
Ye  chief,  to  you  my  tale  I  tell, 
Poor  plackless  devils  like  mysel  I 


THE  AULD   FARMER'S  SALUTATION:  67 

It  sets  you  ill, 
Wi'  bitter,  dearthfu'  wines  to  mell,  95 

Or  foreign  gill. 

Fortune  !  if  thou  '11  but  gie  me  still 
Hale  breeks,  a  scone,  an'  whisky  gill, 
An'  rowth  o'  rhyme  to  rave  at  will, 

Tak  a'  the  rest, 
An'  deal't  about  as  thy  blind  skill  125 

Directs  thee  best. 


THE    AULD  FARMER'S  NEW-YEAR  MORNING  SALU- 
TATION  TO    HIS    AULD   MARE,    MAGGIE, 

ON   GIVING    HER   THE   ACCUSTOMED    RIPP   OF   CORN   TO   HANSEL 
IN    THE    NEW    YEAR. 

A  GuiD  New- Year  I  wish  thee,  Maggie  ! 
Hae,  there  's  a  ripp  to  thy  auld  baggie  : 
Tho'  thou  's  howe-backit  now,  an'  knaggie, 

I  've  seen  the  day 
Thou  could  hae  gane  like  ony  staggie  5 

Out-owre  the  lay. 

Tho'  now  thou  's  dowie,  stiff,  an'  crazy, 
An'  thy  auld  hide  's  as  white  's  a  daisie, 
I  've  seen  thee  dappl't,  sleek  an'  glaizie, 

A  bonie  gray  :  10 

He  should  been  tight  that  daur't  to  raize  thee, 

Ance  in  a  day. 

Thou  ance  was  i'  the  foremost  rank, 
A  filly  buirdly,  steeve,  an'  swank. 


68  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

An'  set  weel  down  a  shapely  shank  15 

As  e'er  tread  yird  ; 
An'  could  hae  flown  out-owre  a  stank 

Like  ony  bird. 

It's  now  some  nine-and-twenty  year 

Sin'  thou  was  my  guid-father's  meere  ;  20 

He  gied  me  thee,  o'  tocher  clear, 

An'  fifty  mark  ; 
Tho'  it  was  sma',  't  was  weel  won  gear, 

An'  thou  was  stark. 

When  first  I  gaed  to  woo  my  Jenny,  25 

Ye  then  was  trottin  wi'  your  minnie  : 
Tho'  ye  was  trickie,  slee  and  funny, 

Ye  ne'er  was  donsie ; 
But  hamely,  tawie,  quiet  an'  cannie, 

An'  unco  sonsie.  30 

That  day  ye  pranc'd  wi'  mickle  pride, 
When  ye  bure  hame  my  bonie  bride : 
An'  sweet  an'  gracefu'  she  did  ride, 

Wi'  maiden  air! 
Kyle-Stewart  I  could  bragged  wide  35 

For  sic  a  pair. 

Tho'  now  ye  dow  but  hoyte  an'  hoble 
An'  wintle  like  a  saumont-coble, 
That  day  ye  was  a  jinker  noble 

For  heels  an'  win' !  40 

An'  ran  them  till  they  a'  did  wauble 

Far,  far  behin' ! 

When  thou  an'  I  were  young  an'  skiegh, 
An'  stable  meals  at  fairs  were  driegh, 


-to' 


THE   AULD   FARMER'S  SALUTATION.  69 

How  thou  wad  prance  an'  snore  an'  skriegh  45 

An'  tak'  the  road  ! 
Toun's  bodies  ran  an'  stood  abiegh 

An'  ca't  thee  mad. 

When  thou  was  corn't  an'  I  was  mellow, 

We  took  the  road  ay  like  a  swallow:  50 

At  brooses  thou  had  ne'er  a  fellow 

For  pith  an'  speed ; 
But  ev'ry  tail  thou  pay't  them  hollow, 

Whare'er  thou  gaed. 

The  sma',  droop-rumpl't,  hunter  cattle  55 

Might  aiblins  waur't  thee  for  a  brattle  ; 
But  sax  Scotch  mile  thou  try't  their  mettle 

An'  gart  them  whaizle  : 
Nae  whip  nor  spur,  but  just  a  wattle 

O'  saugh  or  hazel.  6c> 

Thou  was  a  noble  fittie-lan' 

As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow  was  drawn ! 

Aft  thee  an'  I,  in  aught  hours'  gaun 

On  guid  March-weather, 
Hae  turn'd  sax  rood  beside  our  han'  65 

For  days  thegither. 

Thou  never  braing't  an'  fetch't  an'  flisket, 
But  thy  auld  tail  thou  wad  hae  whisket 
An'  spread  abreed  thy  weel-fill'd  brisket, 

Wi'  pith  an'  pow'r,  70 

Till  spritty  knowes  wad  rair't  and  risket 

An'  slypet  owre. 

When  frosts  lay  lang  an'  snaws  were  deep 
An'  threaten'd  labour  back  to  keep. 


70  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

I  gied  thy  cog  a  wee-bit  heap  75 

Aboon  the  timmer  : 
I  ken'd  my  Maggie  wad  na  sleep 

For  that,  or  simmer. 

In  cart  or  car  thou  never  reestet ; 

The  steyest  brae  thou  wad  hae  faced  it;  80 

Thou  never  lap  an'  sten't  an'  breastet, 

Then  stood  to  blaw  ; 
But  just  thy  step  a  wee  thing  hastet, 

Thou  snoov  't  awa. 

My  pleugh  is  now  thy  bairn-time  a',  85 

Four  gallant  brutes  as  e'er  did  draw ; 
Forbye  sax  mae  I  've  sell't  awa, 

That  thou  hast  nurst : 
They  drew  me  thretteen  pund  an'  twa, 

The  vera  warst.  9° 

Mony  a  sair  daurg  we  twa  hae  wrought, 
An'  wi'  the  weary  warl'  fought! 
An'  mony  an  anxious  day  I  thought 

We  wad  be  beat ! 
Yet  here  to  crazy  age  we  're  brought  95 

Wi'  something  yet. 

And  think  na,  my  auld  trusty  servan'. 
That  now,  perhaps,  thou  's  less  deservin, 
And  thy  auld  days  may  end  in  stervin; 

For  my  last  fou,  i°o 

A  heapit  stimpart,  I  'II  reserve  ane, 

Laid  by  for  you. 

We  've  worn  to  crazy  years  thegither ; 
We  '11  toyte  about  wi'  ane  anither ; 


THE    TWA    DOGS.  71 

Wi'  tentie  care  I  '11  flit  thy  tether  105 

To  some  hained  rig, 
Whare  ye  may  noble  rax  your  leather, 

Wi'  sma'  fatigue. 


THE   TWA    DOGS. 

A  TALE. 

'T  WAS  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's  isle, 
That  bears  the  name  o'  auld  King  Coil, 
Upon  a  bonie  day  in  June, 
When  wearin'  through  the  afternoon, 
Twa  dogs  that  werena  thrang  at  hame  S 

Forgathered  ance  upon  a  time. 

The  first  I  '11  name,  they  ca'd  him  Caesar, 
Was  keepit  for  his  Honour's  pleasure  ; 
His  hair,  his  size,  his  mouth,  his  lugs, 
Showed  he  was  nane  o'  Scotland's  dogs ;  10 

But  whalpit  some  place  far  abroad, 
Whare  sailors  gang  to  fish  for  cod. 

His  locked,  letter'd,  braw  brass  collar 
Show'd  him  the  gentleman  and  scholar; 
But  though  he  was  o'  high  degree,  15 

The  fient  a  pride  —  nae  pride  had  he  ; 
But  wad  hae  spent  an  hour  caressin, 
Even  wi'  a  tinkler-gypsy's  messan: 
At  kirk  or  market,  mill  or  smiddie, 
Nae  tawted  tyke,  though  e'er  sae  duddie,  20 

But  he  wad  stan't,  as  glad  to  see  him, 
And  stroan't  on  stanes  and  hillocks  wi'  him. 


72  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

The  tither  was  a  ploughman's  collie, 
A  rhymin,  rantin,  ravin  billie, 

Wha  for  his  friend  and  comrade  had  him,  25 

An'  in  his  freaks  had  Luath  ca'd  him, 
After  some  dog  in  Highland  sang, 
^  Was  made  lang  syne,  —  Lord  knows  how  lang. 

He  was  a  gash  an'  faithfu'  tyke. 
As  ever  lap  a  sheugh  or  dike.  30 

His  honest,  sonsie,  baws'nt  face 
Ay  gat  him  friends  in  ilka  place ; 
His  breast  was  white,  his  touzie  back 
Weel  clad  wi'  coat  o'  glossy  black; 
His  gawcie  tail  wi'  upward  curl  35 

Hung  owre  his  hurdies  wi'  a  swirl, 

Nae  doubt  but  they  were  fain  o'  ither, 
An'  unco  pack  an'  thick  thegither ; 
Wi'  social  nose  whyles  snuff'd  and  snowket ; 
Whyles  mice  and  moudieworts  they  howket ;  40 

Whyles  scour'd  awa  in  lang  excursion 
An'  worry'd  ither  in  diversion  ; 
Until  wi'  daffin  weary  grown, 
Upon  a  knowe  they  sat  them  down, 
An'  there  began  a  lang  digression  45 

About  the  '  lords  o'  the  creation.' 

C^SAR. 

I  've  aften  wondered,  honest  Luath, 
What  sort  o'  life  poor  dogs  like  you  have  ; 
And  when  the  gentry's  life  I  saw, 
What  way  poor  bodies  liv'd  ava.  50 

Our  laird  gets  in  his  racket  rents, 
His  coals,  his  kain,  and  a'  his  stents; 


THE    TWA    DOGS.  73 

He  rises  when  he  likes  himsel ; 

His  flunkies  answer  at  the  bell ; 

He  ca's  his  coach,  he  ca's  his  horse ;  55 

He  draws  a  bonie  silken  purse 

As  lang  's  my  tail,  where  through  the  steeks 

The  yellow-lettered  Geordie  keeks. 

Frae  morn  to  e'en  it 's  nought  but  toilin, 
At  bakin,  roastin,  fryin,  boilin  ;  60 

And  though  the  gentry  first  are  stechin, 
Yet  ev'n  the  ha'-folk  fill  their  pechan 
Wi'  sauce,  ragouts,  an'  sic  like  trashtrie, 
That 's  little  short  o'  downright  wastrie. 
Our  whipper-in,  wee  blastit  wonner,  65 

Poor  worthless  elf,  it  eats  a  dinner 
Better  than  ony  tenant  man 
His  Honour  has  in  a'  the  Ian' ; 
And  what  poor  cot-folk  pit  their  painch  in, 
I  own  it 's  past  my  comprehension.  7° 

LUATH. 

Trowth,  Caesar,  whiles  they  're  fash't  eneugh ; 
A  cotter  howkin  in  a  sheugh, 
Wi'  dirty  stanes  biggin  a  dyke, 
Barin  a  quarry,  and  sic  like  ; 

Himsel,  a  wife,  he  thus  sustains,  75 

A  smytrie  o'  wee  duddie  weans, 
And  nought  but  his  han'-daurg  to  keep 
Them  right  and  tight  in  thack  and  rape. 

And  when  they  meet  wi'  sair  disasters, 
Like  loss  o'  health  or  want  o'  masters.  So 

Ye  maist  wad  think,  a  wee  touch  langer. 
And  they  maun  starve  o'  cauld  and  hunger ; 


74  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


But  how  it  comes,  I  never  kenn'd  yet, 

They  're  maistly  wonderfu'  contented : 

And  buirdly  chiels  an'  clever  hizzies  85 

Are  bred  in  sic  a  way  as  this  is. 


C^SAR. 


But  then  to  see  how  you  're  neglecket, 
How  huff 'd  and  cufif'd  and  disrespecket ! 
Lord,  man,  our  gentry  care  as  little 
For  delvers,  ditchers  and  sic  cattle  ;  9° 

They  gang  as  saucy  by  poor  folk, 
As  I  wad  by  a  stinkin  brock. 

I  've  noticed,  on  our  Laird's  court-day,  — 
And  mony  a  time  my  heart 's  been  wae,  — 
Poor  tenant  bodies,  scant  o'  cash,  95 

How  they  maun  thole  a  factor's  snash  : 
He  '11  stamp  and  threaten,  curse,  and  swear 
He  '11  apprehend  them,  poind  their  gear ; 
While  they  maun  stan'  wi'  aspect  humble, 
And  hear  it  a',  and  fear  and  tremble !  100 

I  see  how  folk  live  that  hae  riches; 
But  surely  poor  folk  maun  be  wretches  ! 

LUATH. 

They  're  no  sae  wretched  's  ane  wad  think  : 
Tho'  constantly  on  poortith's  brink. 
They  're  sae  accustom'd  wi'  the  sight,  105 

The  view  o  't  gies  them  little  fright. 

Then  chance  and  fortune  are  sae  guided, 
They  're  aye  in  less  or  mair  provided  ; 
And  tho'  fatigu'd  wi'  close  employment, 
A  blink  o'  rest 's  a  sweet  enjoyment.  "o 


THE    TWA    DOGS.  75 

The  dearest  comfort  o'  their  lives, 
Their  grushie  weans  and  faithfu'  wives ; 
The  prattling  things  are  just  their  pride, 
That  sweetens  a'  their  fireside. 

And  whiles  twalpennie  worth  o'  nappy  115 

Can  male  the  bodies  unco  happy : 
They  lay  aside  their  private  cares, 
To  mind  the  Kirk  and  State  affairs  ; 
They  '11  talk  o'  patronage  an'  priests, 
Wi'  kindling  fury  i'  their  breasts,  120 

Or  tell  what  new  taxation  's  comin, 
An'  ferlie  at  the  folk  in  Lon'on. 

As  bleak-fac'd  Hallowmas  returns, 
They  get  the  jovial,  ranting  kirns, 
When  rural  life  o'  ev'ry  station  125 

Unite  in  common  recreation  ; 
Love  blinks.  Wit  slaps,  an'  social  Mirth 
Forgets  there  's  Care  upo'  the  earth. 

That  merry  day  the  year  begins. 
They  bar  the  door  on  frosty  winds  ;  130 

The  nappy  reeks  wi'  mantlin  ream 
An'  sheds  a  heart-inspirin  steam ; 
The  luntin  pipe  an'  sneeshin  mill 
Are  handed  round  wi'  right  guid  will; 
The  cantie  auld  folks  crackin  crouse,  135 

The  young  anes  rantin  thro'  the  house,  — 
My  heart  has  been  sae  fain  to  see  them, 
That  I  for  joy  hae  barket  wi'  them. 

Still  it 's  owre  true  that  ye  hae  said. 
Sic  game  is  now  owre  aften  play'd,  140 


76  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

There  's  monie  a  creditable  stock 

O'  decent,  honest,  fawsont  folk 

Are  riven  out  baith  root  an'  branch, 

Some  rascal's  pridefu'  greed  to  quench, 

Wha  thinks  to  knit  himsel  the  faster  i4S 

In  favour  wi'  some  gentle  master, 

Wha,  aiblins  thrang  a-parliamentin, 

For  Britain's  guid  his  saul  indentin  — 

C^SAR. 

Haith,  lad,  ye  little  ken  about  it ; 
For  Britain's  guid!  guid  faith  !   I  doubt  it.  15° 

Say  rather,  gaun  as  Premiers  lead  him. 
An'  saying  ay  or  no^s>  they  bid  him  : 
At  operas  an'  plays  parading. 
Mortgaging,  gambling,  masquerading : 
Or  maybe,  in  a  frolic  daft,  i55 

To  Hague  or  Calais  taks  a  waft, 
To  mak  a  tour  an'  tak  a  whirl 
To  learn  bon  ton  an'  see  the  worl'. 

There,  at  Vienna  or  Versailles, 
He  rives  his  father's  auld  entails ;  160 

Or  by  Madrid  he  taks  the  rout 
To  thrum  guitars  an'  fecht  wi'  nowt; 
Or  down  Italian  vista  startles, 
Whore-hunting  amang  groves  o'  myrtles  ; 
Then  bouses  drumly  German-water,  165 

To  mak  himsel  look  fair  and  fatter. 
And  clear  the  consequential  sorrows. 
Love-gifts  of  Carnival  signoras. 

For  Britain's  guid  !  —  for  her  destruction  ! 
Wi'  dissipation,  feud,  and  faction.  170 


THE    TIVA    DOGS.  11 


LUATH. 


Hech  man  !  dear  sirs !  is  that  the  gate 
They  waste  sae  mony  a  braw  estate  ? 
Are  we  sae  foughten  and  harass'd 
For  gear  to  gang  that  gate  at  last  ? 

O  would  they  stay  aback  frae  courts  175 

An'  please  themsels  wi'  countra  sports, 
It  wad  for  ev'ry  ane  be  better, 
The  Laird,  the  Tenant,  an'  the  Cotter  ! 
For  thae  frank,  ran  tin,  ramblin  billies, 
Fient  haet  o'  them  's  ill-hearted  fellows :  180 

Except  for  breakin  o'  their  timmer. 
Or  speakin  lightly  o'  their  limmer, 
Or  shootin  o'  a  hare  or  moor-cock. 
The  ne'er-a-bit  they  're  ill  to  poor  folk. 

But  will  ye  tell  me.  Master  Caesar,  185 

Sure  great  folk's  life  's  a  life  o'  pleasure? 
Nae  cauld  nor  hunger  e'er  can  steer  them, 
The  vera  thought  o  't  need  na  fear  them. 

C^SAR. 

Lord,  man,  were  ye  but  whyles  whare  I  am, 
The  gentles  ye  wad  ne'er  envy  'em.  190 

It 's  true,  they  need  na  starve  or  sweat 
Thro'  winter's  cauld  or  simmer's  heat ; 
They  've  nae  sair  wark  to  craze  their  banes, 
An'  fill  auld  age  wi'  grips  an'  granes  : 
But  human  bodies  are  sic  fools,  195 

For  a'  their  colleges  and  schools. 
That  when  nae  real  ills  perplex  them. 
They  mak  enow  themselves  to  vex  them ; 


78  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

An'  ay  the  less  they  hae  to  sturt  them, 

In  like  proportion  less  will  hurt  them.  200 

A  country  fellow  at  the  pleugh, 
His  acres  till'd,  he  's  right  eneugh  ; 
A  country  girl  at  her  wheel, 
Her  dizzens  done,  she  's  unco  weel : 
But  gentlemen,  an'  ladies  warst,  205 

Wi'  ev'n  down  want  o'  wark  are  curst. 
They  loiter,  loungin,  lank,  an'  lazy ; 
Tho'  deil-haet  ails  them,  yet  uneasy : 
Their  days  insipid,  dull,  an'  tasteless ; 
Their  nights  unquiet,  lang,  an'  restless  ;  210 

An'  ev'n  their  sports,  their  balls  an'  races, 
Their  galloping  thro'  public  places,  — 
There  's  sic  parade,  sic  pomp,  an'  art, 
The  joy  can  scarcely  reach  the  heart. 

The  men  cast  out  in  party-matches,  215 

Then  sowther  a'  in  deep  debauches. 
Ae  night,  they  're  mad  wi'  drink  an'  whoring, 
Niest  day  their  life  is  past  enduring. 

The  Ladies  arm-in-arm  in  clusters. 
As  great  an'  gracious  a'  as  sisters ;  220 

But  hear  their  absent  thoughts  o'  ither. 
They're  a'  run  deils  an'  jads  thegither. 
Whiles,  o'er  the  wee  bit  cup  and  platie. 
They  sip  the  scandal-potion  pretty ; 
Or  lee-lang  nights,  wi'  crabbet  leuks,  225 

Pore  owre  the  devil's  pictur'd  beuks ; 
Stake  on  a  chance  a  farmer's  stackyard. 
And  cheat  like  ony  unhang'd  blackguard. 


EPISTLE    TO  JAMES  SMITH.  79 

There  's  some  exceptions,  man  an'  woman  ; 
But  this  is  gentry's  life  in  common.  230 

By  this,  the  sun  was  out  o'  sight. 
And  darker  gloamin  brought  the  night : 
The  bum-clock  humm'd  wi'  lazy  drone; 
The  kye  stood  rowtin  i'  the  loan  ; 
When  up  they  gat,  and  shook  their  lugs,  235 

Rejoic'd  they  were  na  men,  but  dogs; 
And  each  took  aff  his  several  way, 
Resolv'd  to  meet  some  ither  day. 


EPISTLE   TO   JAMES    SMITH. 

Friendship,  mysterious  cement  of  the  soul ! 

Sweet'ner  of  Life,  and  solder  of  Society ! 

I  owe  thee  much.  Blair. 

Dear  Smith,  the  slee-est  pawkie  thief 
That  e'er  attempted  stealth  or  rief, 
Ye  surely  hae  some  warlock  brief 

Owre  human  hearts ; 
For  n'er  a  bosom  yet  was  prief  5 

Against  your  arts. 

For  me,  I  swear  by  sun  an'  moon 
An'  ev'ry  star  that  blinks  aboon. 
Ye  've  cost  me  twenty  pair  o'  shoon 

Just  gaun  to  see  you  ;  10 

An'  ev'ry  ither  pair  that 's  doon, 

Mair  taen  I  'm  wi'  you. 

That  auld  capricious  carlin.  Nature, 
To  mak'  amends  for  scrimpet  stature. 


80  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

She  's  turn'd  you  aff,  a  human  creature  iS 

On  her  first  plan  ; 
And,  in  her  freaks,  on  every  feature 

She  's  wrote  the  Man. 

Just  now  I  've  taen  the  fit  o'  rhyme. 

My  barmie  noddle  's  workin  prime,  20 

My  fancy  yerket  up  sublime 

Wi'  hasty  summon  : 
Hae  ye  a  leisure  moment's  time 

To  hear  what 's  comin  ? 

Some  rhyme  a  neibour's  name  to  lash  ;  25 

Some  rhyme  (vain  thought !)  for  needfu'  cash  ; 
Some  rhyme  to  court  the  country  clash. 

And  raise  a  din  ; 
For  me,  an  aim  I  never  fash  — 

I  rhyme  for  fun.  3° 

The  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot 

Has  fated  me  the  russet  coat, 

And  damn'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat ; 

But,  in  requit. 
Has  blest  me  wi'  a  random  shot  35 

O'  countra  wit. 

This  while  my  notion  's  taen  a  sklent 
To  try  my  fate  in  guid  black  prent  ; 
But  still  the  mair  I  'm  that  way  bent, 

Something  cries  "  Hoolie  !  4° 

I  red  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent ! 

Ye  '11  shaw  your  folly. 

"  There  's  ither  poets  much  your  betters. 
Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters. 


EPISTLE    TO  JAMES  SMITH.  81 

Hae  thought  they  had  insur'd  their  debtors  45 

A'  future  ages ; 
Now  moths  deform  in  shapeless  tatters 

Their  unknown  pages." 

Then  farewell  hopes  o'  laurel  boughs 

To  garland  my  poetic  brows  !  5° 

Henceforth  I  '11  rove  where  busy  ploughs 

Are  whistlin  thrang, 
And  teach  the  lanely  heights  and  howes 

My  rustic  sang. 

I  '11  wander  on,  wi'  tentless  heed  55 

How  never-halting  moments  speed, 
Till  Fate  shall  snap  the  brittle  thread; 

Then,  all  unknown, 
I  '11  lay  me  with  th'  inglorious  dead, 

Forgot  and  gone  !  6o 

But  why  o'  death  begin  a  tale  ? 

Just  now  we  're  living,  sound  and  hale ! 

Then  top  and  maintop  crowd  the  sail, 

Heave  Care  owre  side  ! 
And  large  before  Enjoyment's  gale  65 

Let 's  tak  the  tide. 

This  life,  sae  far  's  I  understand. 

Is  a'  enchanted  fairy  land, 

Where  Pleasure  is  the  magic  wand. 

That,  wielded  right,  7° 

Maks  hours  like  minutes,  hand  in  hand, 

Dance  by  fu'  light. 

The  magic  wand  then  let  us  wield  ; 
For,  ance  that  five  and  forty  's  speel'd, 


82  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

See,  crazy,  weary,  joyless  Eild,  75 

Wi'  wrinkl'd  face. 
Comes  hostin,  hirplin  owre  the  field, 

Wi'  creepin  pace. 

When  ance  life's  day  draws  near  the  gloamin, 

Then  fareweel  vacant  careless  roamin,  So 

An'  fareweel  cheerfu'  tankards  foamin 

An'  social  noise  ; 
An'  fareweel  dear  deluding  Woman, 

The  joy  of  joys  ! 

O  Life  !  how  pleasant  in  thy  morning  85 

Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorning! 
Cold-pausing  Caution's  lesson  scorning, 

We  frisk  away, 
Like  schoolboys,  at  th'  expected  warning 

To  joy  and  play.  9° 

We  wander  there,  we  wander  here, 
We  eye  the  rose  upon  the  brier, 
Unmindful  that  the  thorn  is  near 

Among  the  leaves : 
And  tho'  the  puny  wound  appear,  95 

Short  while  it  grieves. 

Some  lucky  find  a  flow'ry  spot. 

For  which  they  never  toil'd  nor  swat ; 

They  drink  the  sweet  and  eat  the  fat. 

But  care  or  pain  ;  »oo 

And  haply  eye  the  barren  hut 

With  high  disdain. 

With  steady  aim  some  Fortune  chase ; 
Keen  Hope  does  ev'ry  sinew  brace  ; 


EPISTLE    TO  JAMES  SMITH.  83 

Thro'  fair,  thro'  foul,  they  urge  the  race,  105 

And  seize  the  prey; 
Then  cannie  in  some  cozie  place 
They  close  the  day. 

And  others,  like  your  humble  servan', 

Poor  wights!  nae  rules  nor  roads  observin,  "o 

To  right  or  left  eternal  swervin, 

They  zig-zag  on  ; 
Till  curst  with  age,  obscure  an'  starvin, 

They  aften  groan. 

Alas!  what  bitter  toil  an'  straining —  115 

But  truce  wi'  peevish,  poor  complaining ! 
Is  Fortune's  fickle  Luna  waning? 

E'en  let  her  gang  ! 
Beneath  what  light  she  has  remaining 

Let 's  sing  our  sang.  120 

My  pen  I  here  fling  to  the  door. 

An'  kneel,  ye  Pow'rs,  an'  warm  implore, 

"  Tho'  I  should  wander  Terra  o'er 

In  all  her  climes, 
Grant  me  but  this,  I  ask  no  more,  125 

Aye  rowth  o'  rhymes. 

"  Gie  dreeping  roasts  to  countra  lairds, 
Till  icicles  hing  frae  their  beards ; 
Gie  fine  braw  claes  to  fine  life-guards 

An'  maids  of  honour  I  130 

An'  yill  an'  whisky  gie  to  cairds. 

Until  they  scunner. 

"  A  title,  Dempster  merits  it ; 
A  garter  gie  to  Willie  Pitt ; 


84  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Gie  wealth  to  some  be-ledger'd  cit,  135 

In  cent,  per  cent. : 
But  give  me  real,  sterling  wit, 

And  I  'm  content. 

"  While  ye  are  pleas'd  to  keep  me  hale, 

I  '11  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal,  140 

Be  't  water-brose  or  muslin-kail, 

Wi'  cheerfu'  face, 
As  lang  's  the  Muses  dinna  fail 

To  say  the  grace." 

An  anxious  ee  I  never  throws  145 

Behint  my  lug  or  by  my  nose ; 

I  jouk  beneath  Misfortune's  blows 

As  weel  's  I  may ; 
Sworn  foe  to  sorrow,  care,  an'  prose, 

I  rhyme  away.  150 

O  ye  douce  folk,  that  live  by  rule. 
Grave,  tideless-blooded,  calm  an'  cool,  — 
Compar'd  wi'  you,  O  fool !  fool !  fool ! 

How  much  unlike  ! 
Your  hearts  are  just  a  standing  pool,  155 

Your  lives  a  dyke  ! 

Nae  harebrained,  sentimental  traces 
In  your  unlettered,  nameless  faces ! 
In  arioso  trills  and  graces 

Ye  never  stray,  160 

'B\xt  gravissimo,  solemn  basses 

Ye  hum  away. 

Ye  are  sae  grave,  nae  doubt  ye  're  wise ; 
Nae  ferly  tho'  ye  do  despise 


THE    VISION.  85 

The  hairum-scairum,  ram-stam  boys,  165 

The  rattlin  squad : 
I  see  you  upward  cast  your  eyes  — 

Ye  ken  the  road ! 

Whilst  I  —  but  I  shall  haud  me  there  : 

Wi'  you  I  '11  scarce  gang  ony  where —  170 

Then,  Jamie,  I  shall  say  nae  mair, 

But  quat  my  sang, 
Content  with  you  to  mak  a  pair, 

Whare'er  I  gang. 


THE   VISION. 

DUAN    FIRST. 

The  sun  had  clos'd  the  winter  day, 
The  curlers  quat  their  roaring  play, 
And  hunger'd  maukin  taen  her  way 

To  kail-yards  green, 
While  faithless  snaws  ilk  step  betray  5 

Whare  she  has  ben. 

The  thresher's  weary  flingin-tree 
The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me  ; 
And  when  the  day  had  clos'd  his  ee 

Far  i'  the  west,  10 

Ben  i'  the  spence  right  pensivelie 

I  gaed  to  rest. 

There  lanely  by  the  ingle  cheek 
I  sat  and  ey'd  the  spewin  reek. 


86  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

That  fill'd  wi'  hoast-provokin  smeek  15 

The  auld  clay  biggin, 
And  heard  the  restless  rattons  squeak 

About  the  riggin. 

All  in  this  mottie,  misty  clime 

I  backward  mus'd  on  wasted  time,  20 

How  I  had  spent  my  youthfu'  prime, 

An'  done  nae  thing 
But  stringin  blethers  up  in  rhyme 

For  fools  to  sing. 

Had  I  to  guid  advice  but  harket,  25 

I  might  by  this  hae  led  a  market, 
Or  strutted  in  a  bank,  and  clarket 

My  cash  account : 
While  here,  half-mad,  half-fed,  half-sarket, 

Is  a'  th'  amount.  3° 

I  started,  mutt'ring  "  Blockhead !  coof ! " 
And  heav'd  on  high  my  wauket  loof. 
To  swear  by  a'  yon  starry  roof. 

Or  some  rash  aith, 
That  I  henceforth  would  be  rhyme-proof  35 

Till  my  last  breath,  — 

When  click !  the  string  the  sneck  did  draw: 
An'  jee !  the  door  gaed  to  the  wa', 
And  by  my  ingle-lowe  I  saw, 
'  Now  bleezin  bright,  4° 

A  tight,  outlandish  hizzie  braw 
Come  full  in  sight. 

Ye  need  na  doubt,  I  held  my  whisht ; 
The  infant  aith,  half-form'd,  was  crusht ; 


THE  VISION.  87 

I  glowr'd  as  eerie 's  I  'd  been  dusht  45 

In  some  wild  glen  ; 
When  sweet,  like  modest  Worth,  she  blusht, 

And  steppet  ben. 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly-boughs 

Were  twisted  gracefu'  round  her  brows  ;  50 

I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  Muse 

By  that  same  token. 
And  come  to  stop  those  reckless  vows, 

Would  soon  been  broken. 

A  ''hair-brain'd  sentimental  trace"  55 

Was  strongly  market  in  her  face ; 
A  wildly-witty,  rustic  grace 

Shone  full  upon  her ; 
Her  eye,  ev'n  turn'd  on  empty  space, 

Beam'd  keen  with  honour.  60 

Down  flow'd  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheen, 
Till  half  a  leg  was  scrimply  seen  ; 
An'  such  a  leg  !  my  bonie  Jean 

Could  only  peer  it ; 
Sae  straught,  sae  taper,  light  an'  clean  65 

Nane  else  came  near  it. 

Her  mantle  large,  of  greenish  hue. 

My  gazing  wonder  chiefly  drew  ; 

Deep  lights  and  shades,  bold-mingling,  threw 

A  lustre  grand,  70 

And  seem'd  to  my  astonish'd  view 

A  well  known  land. 

Here,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost ; 

There,  mountains  to  the  skies  were  toss't ; 


88  SELECTIONS  EROM  BURNS. 

Here,  tumbling  billows  mark'd  the  coast  75 

With  surging  foam ; 
There,  distant  shone  Art's  lofty  boast, 

The  lordly  dome. 

Here,  Doon  pour'd  down  his  far-fetch'd  floods ; 
There,  well-fed  Irwine  stately  thuds  ;  80 

Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his  woods. 

On  to  the  shore  ; 
And  many  a  lesser  torrent  scuds. 

With  seeming  roar. 

Low  in  a  sandy  valley  spread,  85 

An  ancient  borough  rear'd  her  head ; 
Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read. 
She  boasts  a  race 
To  ev'ry  nobler  virtue  bred 

And  polish'd  grace.  90 

By  stately  tow'r  or  palace  fair. 

Or  ruins  pendent  in  the  air. 

Bold  stems  of  heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern  ; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd  to  dare,  95 

With  feature  stern. 


DUAN    SECOND. 

With  musing-deep,  astonish'd  stare, 

I  view'd  the  heav'nly-seeming  fair  ; 

A  whisp'ring  throb  did  witness  bear  ^ZS 

Of  kindred  sweet, 
When  with  an  elder  sister's  air 

She  did  me  greet. 


THE    VISION.  89 

"  All  hail !  my  own  inspired  bard  ! 

In  me  thy  native  Muse  regard !  Mo 

Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard, 

Thus  poorly  low  ! 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

As  we  bestow. 

"  Know,  the  great  Genius  of  this  land  M5 

Has  many  a  light  aerial  band, 
Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command. 

Harmoniously, 
As  arts  or  arms  they  understand, 

Their  labours  ply.  150 

"  They  Scotia's  race  among  them  share : 
Some  fire  the  soldier  on  to  dare ; 
Some  rouse  the  patriot  up  to  bare 
Corruption's  heart : 
Some  teach  the  bard,  a  darling  care,  i55 

The  tuneful  art. 


"  Of  these  am  I  —  Coila  my  name  ; 
And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim,  200 

Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of  fame, 

Held  ruling  pow'r  : 
I  mark'd  thy  embryo  tuneful  flame, 

Thy  natal  hour. 

'*  With  future  hope  I  oft  would  gaze  205 

Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways, 
Thy  rudely  caroU'd  chiming  phrase 

In  uncouth  rhymes, 
Fir'd  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

Of  other  times.  210 


90  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

"  I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar ; 
Or  when  the  North  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  through  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  Nature's  visage  hoar  215 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 

"  Or  when  the  deep  green-mantled  earth 
Warm  cherish'd  ev'ry  flow'ret's  birth, 
And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  ev'ry  grove,  220 

I  saw  thee  eye  the  general  mirth 

With  boundless  love. 

"  When  ripen'd  fields  and  azure  skies 

Called  forth  the  reaper's  rustling  noise, 

I  saw  thee  leave  their  evening  joys,  225 

And  lonely  stalk 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise 

In  pensive  walk. 

"When  youthful  love,  warm-blushing,  strong, 
Keen-shivering,  shot  thy  nerves  along,  230 

Those  accents,  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Th'  adored  name, 
I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

"  I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play  235 

Wild  send  thee  Pleasure's  devious  way. 
Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor  ray, 

By  Passion  driven  ; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  Heaven.  240 


THE    VISION.  91 

*'  I  taught  thy  manners-painting  strains, 
The  loves,  the  ways  of  simple  swains, 
Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains 

Thy  fame  extends ; 
And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains,  245 

Become  thy  friends. 

"  Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show, 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape  glow; 
Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe 

With  Shenstone's  art;  250 

Or  pour  with  Gray  the  moving  flow 

Warm  on  the  heart. 

"  Yet,  all  beneath  the  unrivall'd  rose, 

The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows  ; 

Tho'  large  the  forest's  monarch  throws  ^I'i 

His  army  shade. 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grows 

Adown  the  glade. 

"  Then  never  murmur  nor  repine  ; 

Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine ;  260 

And,  trust  me,  not  Potosi's  mine 

Nor  king's  regard 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine, 

A  rustic  bard. 

"  To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one  —  265 

Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan  : 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  Man 

With  soul  erect ; 
And  trust  the  Universal  Plan 

Will  all  protect.  270 


92  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

"  And  wear  thou  M/j,"  she  solemn  said, 
And  bound  the  holly  round  my  head : 
The  polish'd  leaves  and  berries  red 

Did  rustling  play ; 
And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled  275 

In  light  away. 


ADDRESS   TO   THE   UNCO    GUID,    OR   THE   RIGIDLY 

RIGHTEOUS. 

My  son,  these  maxims  make  a  rule, 

And  lump  them  aye  thegither ; 
The  Rigid  Righteous  is  a  fool, 

The  Rigid  Wise  anither: 
The  cleanest  corn  that  e'er  was  dight,  , 

May  hae  some  pyles  o'  caff  in  ; 
So  ne'er  a  fellow-creature  slight 

For  random  fits  o'  daffin.  —  Solomon,  Eccles.  vii,  i6. 

« 

0  YE  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 
Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 

Ye  've  nought  to  do  but  mark  and  tell 

Your  neibour's  fauts  and  folly! 
Whase  life  is  like  a  weel-gaun  mill,  5 

Supply'd  wi'  store  o'  water, 
The  heapet  happer  's  ebbing  still. 

And  still  the  clap  plays  clatter,  — 

Hear  me,  ye  venerable  core. 

As  counsel  for  poor  mortals,  10 

That  frequent  pass  douce  Wisdom's  door 

For  glaiket  Folly's  portals; 

1  for  their  thoughtless,  careless  sakes 
Would  here  propone  defences  — 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    UNCO    GUID.  93 

Their  donsie  tricks,  their  black  mistakes,  15 

Their  failings  and  mischances. 

Ye  see  your  state  wi'  theirs  compar'd, 

And  shudder  at  the  niffer; 
But  cast  a  moment's  fair  regard, 

What  maks  the  mighty  differ?  20 

Discount  what  scant  occasion  gave, 

That  purity  ye  pride  in, 
And  (what 's  aft  mair  than  a'  the  lave) 

Your  better  art  o'  hidin. 

Think,  when  your  castigated  pulse  25 

Gies  now  and  then  a  wallop. 
What  ragings  must  his  veins  convulse 

That  still  eternal  gallop  : 
Wi'  wind  and  tide  fair  i'  your  tail, 

Right  on  ye  scud  your  sea-way  ;  30 

But  in  the  teeth  o'  baith  to  sail, 

It  maks  an  unco  leeway. 

See  Social  Life  and  Glee  sit  down, 

All  joyous  and  unthinking, 
Till,  quite  transmugrify'd,  they  're  grown  35 

Debauchery  and  Drinking : 
O  would  they  stay  to  calculate 

Th'  eternal  consequences  ; 
Or  —  your  more  dreaded  hell  to  state  — 

Damnation  of  expenses!  4° 

Ye  high,  exalted,  virtuous  Dames, 

Tied  up  in  godly  laces. 
Before  you  gie  poor  Frailty  names, 

Suppose  a  change  o'  cases  : 


94  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

A  dear  lov'd  lad,  convenience  snug,  45 

A  treacherous  inclination  — 
But,  let  me  whisper  i'  your  lug, 

Ye  're  aiblins  nae  temptation. 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man, 

Still  gentler  sister  woman ;  50 

Tho'  they  may  gang  a  kennin  wrang, 

To  step  aside  is  human  : 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark, 

The  moving  IV/iy  they  do  it ; 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark,  55 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

Who  made  the  heart,  't  is  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us, 
He  knows  each  chord,  its  various  tone, 

Each  spring,  its  various  bias :  60 

Then  at  the  balance,  let 's  be  mute, 

We  never  can  adjust  it ; 
What 's  done  we  partly  can  compute, 

But  know  not  what 's  resisted. 


SONG   COMPOSED   IN   SPRING. 

Again  rejoicing  Nature  sees 

Her  robe  assume  its  vernal  hues ; 

Her  leafy  locks  wave  in  the  breeze. 
All  freshly  steep'd  in  morning  dews. 

Chorus.  —  An'  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat. 

An'  bear  the  scorn  that 's  in  her  ee  ? 


SOJVG    COMPOSED  IN  SPRING.  95 

For  it 's  jet,  jet  black,  an'  it 's  like  a  hawk, 
An'  it  winna  let  a  body  be. 

In  vain  to  me  the  cowslips  blaw, 

In  vain  to  me  the  vi'lets  spring  ;  lo 

In  vain  to  me  in  glen  or  shaw 

The  mavis  an'  the  lintwhite  sing. 

The  merry  ploughboy  cheers  his  team, 

Wi'  joy  the  tentie  seedsman  stalks ; 
But  life  to  me 's  a  weary  dream,  15 

A  dream  of  ane  that  never  wauks. 

The  wanton  coot  the  water  skims, 
Amang  the  reeds  the  ducklings  cry, 

The  stately  swan  majestic  swims, 

An'  every  thing  is  blest  but  I,  20 

The  sheep-herd  steeks  his  fauldin-slap. 
An'  owre  the  moorland  whistles  shill; 

Wi'  wild,  unequal,  wand'ring  step 
I  meet  him  on  the  dewy  hill. 

An'  when  the  lark  'tween  light  an'  dark  25 

Blythe  waukens  by  the  daisy's  side, 
An'  mounts  an'  sings  on  flitterin  wings, 

A  woe-worn  ghaist  I  hameward  glide. 

Come  winter,  with  thine  angry  howl. 

An'  raging  bend  the  naked  tree  :  30 

Thy  gloom  will  soothe  my  cheerless  soul, 

When  nature  all  is  sad  like  me  1 


96  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

TO   A    MOUNTAIN    DAISY, 

ON   TURNING   ONE   DOWN    WITH   THE   PLOUGH,    IN   APRIL,    I786. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r, 
Thou  's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 

Thy  slender  stem : 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  pow'r,  5 

Thou  bonie  gem. 

Alas  !  it 's  no  thy  neibor  sweet. 
The  bonie  lark,  companion  meet. 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet 

Wi'  spreckl'd  breast,  lo 

When  upward-springing,  blythe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 

Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth  ; 

Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth  15 

Amid  the  storm. 
Scarce  rear'd  above  the  parent-earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield 

High  shelt'ring  woods  an'  wa's  maun  shield :  20 

But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field 

Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad,  25 

Thy  snawie  bosom  sun-ward  spread, 


TO   A    MOUNTAIN  DAISY.  97 

Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies!  30 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  maid, 
Sweet  flow'ret  of  the  rural  shade ! 
By  love's  simplicity  betray'd 

And  guileless  trust; 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soil'd,  is  laid  35 

Low  i'  the  dust. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard. 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starr'd! 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore,  .  40 

Till  billows  rage  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er ! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  Worth  is  giv'n. 

Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has  striv'n, 

By  human  pride  or  cunning  driv'n  45 

To  mis'ry's  brink ; 
Till,  wrench'd  of  ev'ry  stay  but  Heav'n, 

He  ruin'd  sink ! 

Ev'n  thou  who  mourn 'st  the  Daisy's  fate, 

That  fate  is  thine  —  no  distant  date  ;  50 

Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare  drives  elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crush'd  beneath  the  furrow's  weight 

Shall  be  thy  doom. 


98  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

TO    MARY. 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 

And  leave  auld  Scotia's  shore  ? 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 

Across  the  Atlantic's  roar? 

0  sweet  grows  the  lime  and  the  orange  S 
And  the  apple  on  the  pine  ; 

But  a'  the  charms  o'  the  Indies 
Can  never  equal  thine. 

1  hae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  my  Mary, 

I  hae  sworn  by  the  Heavens  to  be  true  ;  lo 

And  sae  may  the  Heavens  forget  me, 
When  I  forget  my  vow  ! 

O  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 
And  plight  me  your  lily-white  hand  ; 

O  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary,  15 

Before  I  leave  Scotia's  strand. 

We  hae  plighted  our  troth,  my  Mary, 

In  mutual  affection  to  join. 
And  curst  be  the  cause  that  shall  part  us ! 

The  hour,  and  the  moment  o'  time !  20 


EPISTLE   TO   A    YOUNG   FRIEND. 

I  LANG  hae  thought,  my  youthfu'  friend, 
A  something  to  have  sent  you, 

Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  ither  end 
Than  just  a  kind  memento  ; 


EPISTLE    TO   A    YOUNG  FRIEND.  99 

But  how  the  subject-theme  may  gang,  S 

Let  time  and  chance  determine ; 
Perhaps  it  may  turn  out  a  sang, 

Perhaps  turn  out  a  sermon. 

Ye  '11  try  the  world  soon,  my  lad, 

And,  Andrew  dear,  believe  me,  lo 

Ye  '11  find  mankind  an  unco  squad, 

And  muckle  they  may  grieve  ye  : 
For  care  and  trouble  set  your  thought, 

Ev'n  when  your  end  's  attained  ; 
And  a'  your  views  may  come  to  nought,  ^S 

Where  ev'ry  nerve  is  strained. 

I  '11  no  say,  men  are  villains  a' ; 

The  real,  harden 'd  wicked, 
Wha  hae  nae  check  but  human  law, 

Are  to  a  few  restricked :  20 

But  och  !  mankind  are  unco  weak. 

An'  little  to  be  trusted ; 
If  self  the  wavering  balance  shake, 

It 's  rarely  right  adjusted  ! 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  fortune's  strife,  25 

Their  fate  we  should  na  censure ; 
For  still  th'  important  end  of  life 

They  equally  may  answer  : 
A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart, 

Tho'  poortith  hourly  stare  him ;  3° 

A  man  may  tak  a  neibor's  part, 

Yet  hae  nae  cash  to  spare  him. 

Ay  free,  aff  han',  your  story  tell, 

When  wi'  a  bosom  crony  ; 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel  35 

Ye  scarcely  tell  to  ony. 


100  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Conceal  yoursel  as  weel  's  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection ; 
But  keek  through  ev'ry  other  man 

Wi'  sharpen'd,  sly  inspection.  40 

The  sacred  lowe  o'  weel-plac'd  love, 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it ; 
But  never  tempt  th'  illicit  rove, 

Tho'  naething  should  divulge  it ; 
I  waive  the  quantum  o'  the  sin,  45 

The  hazard  o'  concealing; 
But  och  !  it  hardens  a'  within, 

And  petrifies  the  feeling  ! 

To  catch  Dame  Fortune's  golden  smile, 

Assiduous  wait  upon  her ;  50 

And  gather  gear  by  ev'ry  wile 

That 's  justify'd  by  honour; 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 

Nor  for  a  train  attendant ; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege  55 

Of  being  independent. 

The  fear  o'  hell 's  a  hangman's  whip 

To  haud  the  wretch  in  order ; 
But  where  ye  feel  your  honour  grip, 

Let  that  aye  be  your  border  r  60 

Its  slightest  touches,  instant  pause  — 

Debar  a'  side  pretences  ; 
And  resolutely  keep  its  laws, 

Uncaring  consequences. 

The  great  Creator  to  revere  65 

Must  sure  become  the  creature ; 

But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear, 
An'  ev'n  the  rigid  feature  : 


A   DREAM.  101 

Yet  ne'er  with  wits  profane  to  range, 

Be  complaisance  extended  ;  7° 

An  atheist  laugh 's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended ! 

When  ranting  round  in  Pleasure's  ring, 

Religion  may  be  blinded  ; 
Or  if  she  gie  a  random  sting,  75 

It  may  be  little  minded; 
But  when  on  life  we  're  tempest  driv'n, 

A  conscience  but  a  canker, 
A  correspondence  fix'd  wi'  Heav'n 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor !  8o 

Adieu !  dear,  amiable  youth. 

Your  heart  can  ne'er  be  wanting ! 
May  prudence,  fortitude,  an'  truth 

Erect  your  brow  undaunting ! 
In  ploughman  phrase,  "God  send  you  speed"         85 

Still  daily  to  grow  wiser  : 
An*  may  you  better  reck  the  rede 

Than  ever  did  th'  adviser  ! 


A   DREAM. 


Thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  the  statute  blames  with  reason, 
But  surely  dreams  were  ne'er  indicted  treason. 

GuiD-MoRNiN  to  your  Majesty  ! 

May  heaven  augment  your  blisses 
On  ev'ry  new  birth-day  ye  see, 

A  humble  Bardie  wishes. 
My  Bardship  here  at  your  Levee, 


102  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

On  sic  a  day  as  this  is, 
Is  sure  an  uncouth  sight  to  see 
Amang  thae  birth-day  dresses 
Sae  fine  this  day. 

I  see  ye  're  complimented  thrang  lo 

By  mony  a  lord  an'  lady ; 
"  God  save  the  King !  "  's  a  cuckoo  sang 

That 's  unco  easy  said  aye  : 
The  Poets,  too,  a  venal  gang, 

Wi'  rhymes  weel-turn'd  and  ready,  15 

Wad  gar  you  trow  ye  ne'er  do  wrang, 

But  aye  unerring  steady, 
On  sic  a  day. 

For  me  !  before  a  Monarch's  face, 

Ev'n  there  I  winna  flatter  ;  20 

For  neither  pension,  post,  nor  place, 

Am  I  your  humble  debtor  : 
So  —  nae  reflection  on  your  Grace, 

Your  Kingship  to  bespatter  — 
There  's  monie  waur  been  o'  the  race,  25 

And  aiblins  ane  been  better 

Than  you  this  day. 

'T  is  very  true,  my  sov'reign  King, 

My  skill  may  weel  be  doubted  ; 
But  facts  are  chiels  that  winna  ding  30 

And  downa  be  disputed  : 
Your  royal  nest  beneath  your  wing 

Is  e'en  right  reft  an'  clouted. 
And  now  the  third  part  of  the  string, 

And  less,  will  gang  about  it  35 

Than  did  ae  day. 


A   DREAM.  103 

Far  be  't  frae  me  that  I  aspire 

To  blame  your  legislation, 
Or  say  ye  wisdom  want,  or  fire, 

To  rule  this  mighty  nation  !  4° 

But  faith  !  I  muckle  doubt,  my  sire, 

Ye  've  trusted  ministration 
To  chaps  wha  in  a  barn  or  byre 

Wad  better  fill'd  their  station 

Than  courts  yon  day.  45 

And  now  ye  've  gien  auld  Britain  peace 

Her  broken  shins  to  plaister, 
Your  sair  taxation  does  her  fleece. 

Till  she  has  scarce  a  tester : 
For  me,  thank  God,  my  life  's  a  lease,  5° 

Nae  bargain  wearin  faster. 
Or  faith  !  I  fear  that  wi'  the  geese 

I  shortly  boost  to  pasture 

I'  the  craft  some  day. 

I  'm  no  mistrusting  Willie  Pitt,  •  55 

When  taxes  he  enlarges, 
(An'  Will 's  a  true  guid  fallow's  get, 

A  name  not  envy  spairges). 
That  he  intends  to  pay  your  debt 

An'  lessen  a'  your  charges  ;  6o 

But  Gude  sake !  let  nae  saving-fit 

Abridge  your  bonie  barges 

An'  boats  this  day. 

Adieu,  my  Liege !  may  Freedom  geek 

Beneath  your  high  protection  ;  65 

An'  may  ye  rax  Corruption's  neck, 
And  gie  her  for  dissection  ! 


104  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

But  since  I  'm  here,  I  '11  no  neglect, 

In  loyal  true  affection, 
To  pay  your  Queen  with  due  respect  70 

My  fealty  an'  subjection 

This  great  birth-day. 

Hail,  Majesty  most  Excellent! 

While  nobles  strive  to  please  ye, 
Wiir  ye  accept  a  compliment  75 

A  simple  poet  gies  ye  ? 
Thae  bonie  bairntime  Heav'n  has  lent, 

Still  higher  may  they  heeze  ye 
In  bliss,  till  fate  some  day  is  sent, 

For  ever  to  release  ye  80 

Frae  care  that  day. 

For  you,  young  Potentate  o'  Wales, 

I  tell  your  Highness  fairly, 
Down  Pleasure's  stream  wi'  swelling  sails 

I  'm  tauld  ye  're  driving  rarely ;  85 

But  some  day  ye  may  gnaw  your  nails 

An'  curse  your  folly  sairly. 
That  e'er  ye  brak  Diana's  pales 

Or  rattl'd  dice  wi'  Charlie 

By  night  or  day.  90 

Yet  aft  a  ragged  cowte's  been  known 

To  mak  a  noble  aiver ; 
Sae,  ye  may  doucely  fill  a  throne, 

For  a'  their  clish-ma-claver : 
There,  him  at  Agincourt  wha  shone,  95 

Few  better  were  or  braver ; 
And  yet  wi'  funny,  queer  Sir  John 

He  was  an  unco  shaver 

For  monie  a  day. 


A   DREAM.  105 

For  you,  right  rev'rend  Osnaburg,  loo 

Nane  sets  the  lawn-sleeve  sweeter, 
Altho'  a  ribban  at  your  lug 

Wad  been  a  dress  completer : 
As  ye  disown  yon  paughty  dog 

That  bears  the  Keys  of  Peter,  105 

Then,  swith !  an'  get'a  wife  to  hug. 

Or,  trowth !  ye  '11  stain  the  Mitre 
Some  luckless  day. 

Young,  royal  Tarry  Breeks,  I  learn, 

Ye  've  lately  come  athwart  her —  no 

A  glorious  galley,  stem  and  stern, 

Weel  rigg'd  for  Venus'  barter; 
But  first  hang  out,  that  she  '11  discern 

Your  hymeneal  charter, 
Then  heave  aboard  your  grapple-airn,  115 

An',  large  upon  her  quarter, 

Come  full  that  day. 

Ye,  lastly,  bonie  blossoms  a'. 

Ye  royal  lasses  dainty, 
Heav'n  mak  you  guid  as  weel  as  braw,  120 

An'  gie  you  lads  a-plenty  ! 
But  sneer  na  British  boys  awa, 

For  kings  are  unco  scant  aye ; 
An'  German  gentles  are  but  sma', 

They  're  better  just  than  want  aye  125 

On  onie  day. 

God  bless  you  a' !  consider  now 

Ye  're  unco  muckle  dautet ; 
But  ere  the  course  o'  life  be  through 

It  may  be  bitter  sautet :  t  J30 


106  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

An'  I  hae  seen  their  coggie  fou, 

That  yet  hae  tarrow't  at  it ; 
But  or  the  day  was  done,  I  trow, 

The  laggen  they  hae  clautet 

Fu'  clean  that  day.  135 


ON   A    SCOTCH   BARD, 

GONE  TO  THE   WEST   INDIES. 

A'  YE  wha  live  by  sowps  o'  drink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  by  crambo-clink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  and  never  think, 

Come,  mourn  wi'  me  I 
Our  bilUe  's  gien  us  a'  a  jink,  5 

And  owre  the  sea. 

Lament  him  a'  ye  rantin  core, 
Wha  dearly  like  a  random-splore, 
Nae  mair  he  '11  join  the  merry  roar 

In  social  key;  10 

For  now  he  's  taen  anither  shore. 

And  owre  the  sea ! 

The  bonie  lasses  weel  may  wiss  him. 

And  in  their  dear  petitions  place  him  : 

The  widows,  wives,  and  a'  may  bless  him,  15 

Wi'  tearfu'  -e'e ; 
For  weel  I  wat  they  '11  sairly  miss  him 

That 's  owre  the  sea  ! 

O  Fortune,  they  hae  room  to  grumble ! 

Hadst  thou  taen  aff  some  drowsy  bummle,  20 


ON  A   SCOTCH  BARD.  107 

Wha  can  do  nought  but  fyke  and  fumble, 

'Twad  been  nae  plea; 
But  he  was  gleg  as  ony  wumble, 

That 's  owre  the  sea ! 

Auld  cantie  Kyle  may  weepers  wear,  25 

And  stain  them  wi'  the  saut,  saut  tear ; 
'T  will  mak'  her  poor  auld  heart,  I  fear. 

In  flinders  flee  ; 
He  was  her  laureat  mony  a  year, 

That 's  owre  the  sea!  30 

He  saw  Misfortune's  cauld  nor-west 
Lang  mustering  up  a  bitter  blast ; 
A  jillet  brak  his  heart  at  last, 

111  may  she  be  ! 
So,  took  a  berth  afore  the  mast,  35 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

To  tremble  under  Fortune's  cummock 
On  scarce  a  bellyfu'  o'  drummock, 
Wi'  his  proud,  independent  stomach 

Could  ill  agree  ;  40 

So,  row't  his  hurdies  in  a  hammock 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

He  ne'er  was  gien  to  great  misguidin, 
Yet  coin  his  pouches  wad  na  bide  in ; 
Wi'  him  it  ne'er  was  under  hidin,  45 

He  dealt  it  free  : 
The  Muse  was  a'  that  he  took  pride  in 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

Jamaica  bodies,  use  him  weel 

An'  hap  him  in  a  cozie  biel ;  50 


108  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Ye  '11  find  him  ay'  a  dainty  chiel 

And  fou  o'  glee  ; 
He  wad  na  wrang'd  the  vera  dell, 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

Fareweel,  my  rhyme-composing  billie  !  ^^ 

Your  native  soil  was  right  ill-willie  ; 
But  may  ye  flourish  like  a  lily 

Now  bonilie  ! 
I  '11  toast  ye  in  my  hindmost  gillie, 

Tho'  owre  the  sea !  6o 


A   BARD'S    EPITAPH. 

Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 

Owre  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for  rule, 

Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre  proud  to  snool  ?  — 

Let  him  draw  near  ; 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool,  5 

And  drap  a  tear. 

Is  there  a  bard  of  rustic  song. 

Who,  noteless,  steals  the  crowds  among, 

That  weekly  this  area  throng  ?  — 

Oh,  pass  not  by !  lo 

But  with  a  frater-feeling  strong 

Here  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man  whose  judgment  clear 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer, 
Yet  runs  himself  life's  mad  career  iS 

Wild  as  the  wave  ?  — 
Here  pause  —  and  thro'  the  starting  tear 

Survey  this  grave. 


THE  BRIGS   OF  AYR.  109 

The  poor  inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know,  20 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow 

And  softer  flame ; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  stain'd  his  name ! 

Reader,  attend  !  whether  thy  soul  25 

Soars  fancy's  flights  beyond  the  pole, 
Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthly  hole 

In  low  pursuit ; 
Know,  prudent,  cautious  self-control 

Is  wisdom's  root.  30 


THE   BRIGS    OF   AYR. 

'TwAS  when  the  stacks  get  on  their  winter-hap, 
And  thack  and  rape  secure  the  toil-won  crap  ; 
Potato-bings  are  snugged  up  frae  skaith 
Of  coming  Winter's  biting,  frosty  breath ; 
The  bees,  rejoicing  o'er  their  summer  toils,  S 

Unnumber'd  buds'  and  flow'rs'  delicious  spoils, 
Seal'd  up  with  frugal  care  in  massive  waxen  piles, 
Are  doom'd  by  man,  that  tyrant  o'er  the  weak, 
The  death  o'  devils,  smoor'd  wi'  brimstone  reek  : 
The  thundering  guns  are  heard  on  ev'ry  side,  10 

The  wounded  coveys,  reeling,  scatter  wide ; 
The  feather'd  field-mates,  bound  by  Nature's  tie, 
Sires,  mothers,  children,  in  one  carnage  lie  : 
(What  warm,  poetic  heart  but  inly  bleeds. 
And  execrates  man's  savage,  ruthless  deeds  !)  '5 

Nae  mair  the  flow'r  in  field  or  meadow  springs  ; 
Nae  mair  the  grove  with  airy  concert  rings, 


110  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Except,  perhaps,  the  robin's  whistlin  glee, 

Proud  o'  the  height  o'  some  bit  half-lang  tree : 

The  hoary  morns  precede  the  sunny  days,  20 

Mild,  calm,  serene,  wide  spreads  the  noon-tide  blaze, 

While  thick  the  gossamer  waves  wanton  in  the  rays. 


'T  was  in  that  season,  when  a  simple  Bard, 
Unknown  and  poor  —  simplicity's  reward !  — 
Ae  night  within  the  ancient  brugh  of  Ayr,  25 

By  whim  inspired,  or  haply  prest  wi'  care. 
He  left  his  bed,  and  took  his  wayward  route. 
And  down  by  Simpson's  wheel'd  the  left  about 
(Whether  impell'd  by  all-directing  Fate, 

To  witness  w^hat  I  after  shall  narrate ;  3° 

Or,  whether,  rapt  in  meditation  high, 
He  wandered  out  he  knew  not  where  nor  why). 
The  drowsy  Dungeon-clock  had  number'd  two, 
And  Wallace  Tower  had  sworn  the  fact  was  true  : 
The  tide-swoln  Firth,  with  sullen  sounding  roar,  35 

Through  the  still  night  dash'd  hoarse  along  the  shore : 
All  else  was  hush'd  as  Nature's  closed  ee ; 
The  silent  moon  shone  high  o'er  tow'r  and  tree ; 
The  chilly  frost,  beneath  the  silver  beam. 
Crept,  gently  crusting,  o'er  the  glittering  stream.  4° 

When,  lo !  on  either  hand  the  list'ning  Bard, 
The  clanging  sugh  of  whistling  wings  is  heard  ; 
Two  dusky  forms  dart  thro'  the  midnight  air. 
Swift  as  the  gos  drives  on  the  wheeling  hare  ; 
Ane  on  th'  Auld  Brig  his  airy  shape  uprears,  45 

The  ither  flutters  o'er  the  rising  piers  : 
Our  warlock  Rhymer  instantly  descry'd 
The  Sprites  that  owre  the  Brigs  of  Ayr  preside, 


THE   BRIGS   OF  AYR.  Ill 

(That  bards  are  second-sighted  is  nae  joke, 

And  ken  the  lingo  of  the  sp'ritual  folk  ;  50 

Fays,  Spunkies,  Kelpies,  a',  they  can  explain  them. 

And  ev'n  the  vera  deils  they  brawly  ken  them.) 

Auld  Brig  appear'd  of  ancient  Pictish  race, 

The  very  wrinkles  Gothic  in  his  face  : 

He  seem'd  as  he  wi'  Time  had  wrastl'd  lang,  55 

Yet,  teughly  doure,  he  bade  an  unco  bang. 

New  Brig  was  buskit  in  a  braw  new  coat. 

That  he  at  Lon'on  frae  ane  Adams  got ; 

In  's  hand  five  taper  staves  as  smooth  's  a  bead, 

Wi'  virls  and  whirlygigums  at  the  head.  60 

The  Goth  was  stalking  round  with  anxious  search, 

Spying  the  time-worn  flaws  in  ev'ry  arch  ; 

It  chanc'd  his  new-come  neibor  took  his  ee. 

And  e'en  a  vex'd  and  angry  heart  had  he  ! 

Wi'  thieveless  sneer  to  see  his  modish  mien,  65 

He  down  the  water  gies  him  this  guid-een :  — 

AULD    BRIG. 

I  doubt  na,  frien',  ye  '11  think  ye  're  nae  sheep-shank, 
Ance  ye  were  streekit  owre  frae  bank  to  bank ! 
But  gin  ye  be  a  brig  as  auld  as  me  — 

Tho',  faith  !  that  date,  I  doubt,  ye  '11  never  see  —  70 

There  '11  be,  if  that  day  come,  I  '11  wad  a  boddle. 
Some  fewer  whigmeleeries  in  your  noddle. 

NEW   BRIG. 

Auld  Vandal !  ye  but  show  your  little  mense. 
Just  much  about  it  wi'  your  scanty  sense ; 
Will  your  poor,  narrow  foot-path  of  a  street,  75 

Where  twa  wheel-barrows  tremble  when  they  meet, 
Your  ruin'd,  formless  bulk  o'  stane  and  lime. 
Compare  wi'  bonie  brigs  o'  modern  time  ? 


112  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

There 's  men  o'  taste  wou'd  tak  the  Ducat-stream, 

Tho'  they  should  cast  the  vera  sark  and  swim,  80 

Ere  they  would  grate  their  feelings  wi'  the  view 

O'  sic  an  ugly,  Gothic  hulk  as  you. 

AULD   BRIG. 

Conceited  gowk  !  pufE'd  up  wi'  windy  pride  ! 
This  mony  a  year  I  've  stood  the  flood  an'  tide ; 
And  tho'  wi'  crazy  eild  I  'm  sair  forfairn,  85 

I  '11  be  a  Brig,  when  ye  're  a  shapeless  cairn ! 
As  yet  ye  little  ken  about  the  matter, 
But  twa-three  winters  will  inform  ye  better. 
When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a'-day  rains, 
Wi'  deepening  deluges  o'erflow  the  plains ;  9° 

When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling  Coil, 
Or  stately  Lugar's  mossy  fountains  boil, 
Or  where  the  Greenock  winds  his  moorland  course. 
Or  haunted  Garpal  draws  his  feeble  source, 
Arous'd  by  blust'ring  winds  an'  spotting  thowes,  95 

In  mony  a  torrent  down  his  snaw-broo  rowes ; 
While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  roaring  spate, 
Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gate; 
And  from  Glenbuck  down  to  the  Ratton-Key 
Auld  Ayr  is  just  one  lengthen'd,  tumbling  sea  ;  100 

Then  down  ye  '11  hurl  (deil  nor  ye  never  rise !) 
And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups  up  to  the  pouring  skies ! 
A  lesson  sadly  teaching  to  your  cost 
That  Architecture's  noble  art  is  lost ! 

NEW   BRIG. 

Fine  Architecture,  trowth,  I  needs  must  say  't  o't;         loS 
The  Lord  be  thankit  that  we  've  tint  the  gate  o  't ! 
Gaunt,  ghastly,  ghaist-alluring  edifices. 
Hanging  with  threat'ning  jut,  like  precipices  ; 


THE  BRIGS   OF  AYR.  113 

O'er-arching,  mouldy,  gloom-inspiring  coves, 

Supporting  roofs  fantastic,  stony  groves  :  no 

Windows  and  doors  in  nameless  sculptures  drest, 

With  order,  symmetry,  or  taste  unblest ; 

Forms  like  some  bedlam  statuary's  dream, 

The  craz'd  creations  of  misguided  whim  ; 

Forms  might  be  worshipp'd  on  the  bended  knee,  115 

And  still  the  second  dread  command  be  free,  — 

Their  likeness  is  not  found  on  earth,  in  air,  or  sea ! 

Mansions  that  would  disgrace  the  building  taste 

Of  any  mason  reptile,  bird,  or  beast ; 

Fit  only  for  a  doitet  monkish  race,  120 

Or  frosty  maids  forsworn  the  dear  embrace. 

Or  cuifs  of  latter  times  wha  held  the  notion 

That  sullen  gloom  was  sterling  true  devotion  : 

Fancies  that  our  good  Brugh  denies  protection  ! 

And  soon  may  they  expire,  unblest  with  resurrection  !       125 

AULD   BRIG. 

O  ye,  my  dear-remember'd  ancient  yealings. 
Were  ye  but  here  to  share  my  wounded  feelings ! 
Ye  worthy  Proveses,  an'  mony  a  Bailie, 
Wha  in  the  paths  o'  righteousness  did  toil  aye ; 
Ve  dainty  Deacons  and  ye  douce  Conveners,  130 

To  whom  our  moderns  are  but  causey-cleaners  ; 
Ve  godly  Councils  wha  hae  blest  this  town  ; 
Ye  godly  brethren  o'  the  sacred  gown, 
Wha  meekly  gae  your  hurdles  to  the  smiters  ; 
And  —  what  would  now  be  strange  —  ye  godly  Writers;  135 
A'  ye  douce  folk  I  've  borne  aboon  the  broo. 
Were  ye  but  here,  what  would  ye  say  or  do  ! 
How  would  your  spirits  groan  in  deep  vexation. 
To  see  each  melancholy  alteration ; 
And  agonizing,  curse  the  time  and  place  140 


114  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

When  ye  begat  the  base,  degen'rate  race ! 
Nae  langer  rev'rend  men,  their  country's  glory, 
In  plain  braid  Scots  hold  forth  a  plain  braid  story ; 
Nae  langer  thrifty  citizens  and  douce, 

Meet  owre  a  pint,  or  in  the  council-house  ;  145 

But  staumrel,  corky-headed,  graceless  gentry, 
The  herryment  and  ruin  of  the  country  ; 
Men  three-parts  made  by  tailors  and  by  barbers. 
Wha  waste  your  weel-hain'd  gear  on  damn'd  new  brigs 
and  harbours. 

NEW   BRIG. 

Now  hand  you  there  !  for  faith  ye  've  said  enow,  150 

And  muckle  mair  than  ye  can  mak  to  through. 
As  for  your  Priesthood  I  shall  say  but  little,  — 
Corbies  and  Clergy  are  a  shot  right  kittle : 
But,  under  favour  o'  your  langer  beard. 

Abuse  o'  Magistrates  might  weel  be  spar'd:  155 

To  liken  them  to  your  auld-warld  squad, 
I  must  needs  say,  comparisons  are  odd. 
In  Ayr,  wag-wits  nae  mair  can  hae  a  handle 
To  mouth  *a  Citizen,'  a  term  o'  scandal; 
Nae  mair  the  Council  waddles  down  the  street,  160 

In  all  the  pomp  of  ignorant  conceit ; 
Men  wha  grew  wise  priggin  owre  hops  an'  raisins, 
Or  gather'd  lib'ral  views  in  bonds  and  seisins  : 
If  haply  Knowledge,  on  a  random  tramp. 
Had  shor'd  them  wi'  a  glimmer  of  his  lamp,  165 

And  would  to  Common-sense  for  once  betray'd  them, 
Plain,  dull  Stupidity  stept  kindly  in  to  aid  them. 

What  farther  clishmaclaver  might  been  said. 
What  bloody  wars,  if  Sprites  had  blood  to  shed. 
No  man  can  tell ;  but  all  before  their  sight  170 

A  fairy  train  appear'd  in  order  bright : 


THE   BRIGS   OF  AYR.  115 

Adown  the  glittering  stream  they  featly  danc'd ; 

Bright  to  the  moon  their  various  dresses  glanc'd : 

They  footed  o'er  the  wat'ry  glass  so  neat, 

The  infant  ice  scarce  bent  beneath  their  feet :  i75 

While  arts  of  Minstrelsy  among  them  rung, 

And  soul-ennobling  Bards  heroic  ditties  sung. 

O  had  M'Lauchlan,  thairm-inspiring  sage. 
Been  there  to  hear  this  heavenly  band  engage, 
When  thro'  his  dear  strathspeys  they  bore  with  Highland 

rage  ;  i8o 

Or  when  they  struck  old  Scotia's  melting  airs, 
The  lover's  raptur'd  joys  or  bleeding  cares  ; 
How  would  his  Highland  lug  been  nobler  fir'd, 
And  ev'n  his  matchless  hand  with  finer  touch  inspir'd  ! 
No  guess  could  tell  what  instrument  appear'd,  185 

But  all  the  soul  of  Music's  self  was  heard ; 
Harmonious  concert  rung  in  every  part. 
While  simple  melody  pour'd  moving  on  the  heart. 

The  Genius  of  the  Stream  in  front  appears, 
A  venerable  Chief,  advanc'd  in  years  ;  190 

His  hoary  head  with  water-lilies  crown'd, 
His  manly  leg  with  garter  tangle  bound. 
Next  came  the  loveliest  pair  in  all  the  ring. 
Sweet  Female  Beauty  hand  in  hand  with  Spring ; 
Then,  crown'd  with  flow'ry  hay,  came  Rural  Joy,  195 

And  Summer,  with  his  fervid-beaming  eye ; 
All-cheering  Plenty,  with  her  flowing  horn. 
Led  yellow  Autumn  wreath'd  with  nodding  corn ; 
Then  Winter's  time-bleach'd  locks  did  hoary  show 
By  Hospitality  with  cloudless  brow ;  200 

Next  follow'd  Courage  with  his  martial  stride. 
From  where  the  Feal  wild-woody  coverts  hide  ; 


116  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Benevolence  with  mild,  benignant  air, 

A  female  form,  came  from  the  tow'rs  of  Stair : 

Learning  and  Worth  in  equal  measures  trode  205 

From  simple  Catrine,  their  long-lov'd  abode  : 

Last,  white-rob'd  Peace,  crown'd  with  a  hazel  wreath. 

To  rustic  Agriculture  did  bequeath 

The  broken,  iron  instruments  of  death: 

At  sight  of  whom  our  Sprites  forgat  their  kindhng  wrath.  210 


LINES    ON   AN   INTERVIEW    WITH    LORD    DAER. 

This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns, 
I,  Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
A  ne'er-to-be-forgotten  day, 
Sae  far  I  sprachled  up  the  brae,  5 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord. 

I  've  been  at  drucken  writers'  feasts, 

Nay,  been  bitch-fou  'mang  godly  priests  — 

Wi'  rev'rence  be  it  spoken !  — 
I  've  even  join'd  the  honour'd  jorum,  10 

When  mighty  Squireships  of  the  Quorum 

Their  hydra  drouth  did  sloken. 

But  wi'  a  Lord  —  stand  out'  my  shin  ! 
A  Lord  —  a  Peer  —  an  Earl's  son ! 

Up  higher  yet,  my  bonnet!  15 

And  sic  a  Lord  —  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
Our  Peerage  he  o'erlooks  them  a'. 

As  I  look  owre  my  sonnet. 

But  O  for  Hogarth's  magic  pow'r 

To  show  Sir  Bardie's  willyart  glow'r,  20 


A    WINTER  NIGHT.  117 

And  how  he  star'd  and  stammer'd, 
When  goavan,  as  if  led  wi'  branks, 
An'  stumpin  on  his  ploughman  shanks, 

He  in  the  parlor  hammer'd ! 

I  sidling  shelter'd  in  a  nook,  25 

An'  at  his  Lordship  steal't  a  look, 

Like  some  portentous  omen; 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee, 
An'  (what  surprised  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  nought  uncommon.  30 

I  watch'd  the  symptoms  o'  the  great, 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state, 

The  arrogant  assuming  : 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he. 
Nor  sauce  nor  state  that  I  could  see,  35 

Mair  than  an  honest  ploughman. 

Then  from  his  lordship  I  shall  learn. 
Henceforth  to  meet  with  unconcern 

One  rank  as  weel  's  another : 
Nae  honest  worthy  man  need  care  4° 

To  meet  with  noble  youthful  Daer, 

For  he  but  meets  a  brother. 


A    WINTER   NIGHT. 

Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are, 

That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm  ! 

How  shall  your  houseless  heads  and  unfed  sides. 

Your  loop'd  and  window'd  raggedness,  defend  you 

From  seasons  such  as  these  ?  Shakespeare. 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure, 
Sharp  shivers  thro'  the  leafless  bow'r  ; 


118  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

When  Phoebus  gies  a  short  lived  glow'r 

Far  south  the  lift, 
Dim-darkening  thro'  the  flaky  show'r  5 

Or  whirling  drift ; 

Ae  night  the  storm  the  steeples  rocked, 
Poor  Labour  sweet  in  sleep  was  locked, 
While  burns,  wi'  snawy  wreaths  up-choked, 

Wild-eddying  swirl,  lo 

Or,  thro'  the  mining  outlet  bocked, 

Down  headlong  hurl  : 

Listening  the  doors  and  winnocks  rattle, 

I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle, 

Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle  iS 

O'  winter  war, 
An'  through  the  drift,  deep-lairing,  sprattle 

Beneath  a  scaur. 

Ilk  happin  bird  —  wee,  helpless  thing!  — 

That  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring  20 

Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 

What  comes  o'  thee  ? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering  wing 

An'  close  thy  ee  ? 

Ev'n  you  on  murd'ring  errands  toil'd,  25 

Lone  from  your  savage  homes  exil'd,  — 
The  blood-stain'd  roost  an'  sheep-cot  spoil'd 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pitiless  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats.  30 

Now  Phoebe,  in  her  midnight  reign, 
Dark  muffled,  viewed  the  dreary  plain ; 


A    WINTER   NIGHT.  119 

Still  crowding  thoughts,  a  pensive  train, 

Rose  in  my  soul. 
When  on  my  ear  this  plaintive  strain,  35 

Slow-solemn,  stole :  — 

"  Blow,  blow  ye  winds  with  heavier  gust ! 

And  freeze,  thou  bitter-biting  frost ! 

Descend,  ye  chilly,  smothering  snows ! 

Not  all  your  rage,  as  now  united,  shows  4° 

More  hard  unkindness,  unrelenting, 

Vengeful  malice,  unrepenting, 
Than  heaven-illumined  man  on  brother  man  bestows  ! 

"  See  stern  Oppression's  iron  grip, 

Or  mad  Ambition's  gory  hand,  45 

Sending,  like  blood-hounds  from  the  slip, 
Woe,  Want,  and  Murder  o'er  a  land ! 

Ev'n  in  the  peaceful  rural  vale. 

Truth,  weeping,  tells  the  mournful  tale : 
How  pamper'd  Luxury,  Flatt'ry  by  her  side,  5° 

The  parasite  empoisoning  her  ear. 

With  all  the  servile  wretches  in  the  rear, 
Looks  o'er  proud  Property,  extended  wide  ; 

And  eyes  the  simple,  rustic  hind, 

Whose  toil  upholds  the  glitt'ring  show —  55 

A  creature  of  another  kind, 

Some  coarser  substance,  unrefin'd  — 
Plac'd  for  her  lordly  use,  thus  far,  thus  vile,  below  ! 

•'  Where,  where  is  Love's  fond,  tender  throe, 

With  lordly  Honour's  lofty  brow,  6o 

The  pow'rs  you  proudly  own  ? 
Is  there,  beneath  Love's  noble  name. 
Can  harbour,  dark,  the  selfish  aim, 

To  bless  himself  alone? 


120  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Mark  Maiden-Innocence  a  prey 
To  love-pretending  snares  : 

This  boasted  Honour  turns  away, 

Shunning  soft  Pity's  rising  sway, 
Regardless  of  the  tears  and  unavailing  pray'rs ! 

Perhaps  this  hour,  in  Misery's  squalid  nest,  70 

She  strains  your  infant  to  her  joyless  breast, 
And  with  a  mother's  fears  shrinks  at  the  rocking  blast ! 

"O  ye  !  who,  sunk  in  beds  of  down, 

Feel  not  a  want  but  what  yourselves  create, 
Think,  for  a  moment,  on  his  wretched  fate,  75 

Whom  friends  and  fortune  quite  disown  ! 
Ill-satisfy'd  keen  nature's  clam'rous  call. 

Stretched  on  his  straw,  he  lays  himself  to  sleep  ; 
While  through  the  ragged  roof  and  chinky  wall, 

Chill,  o'er  his  slumbers  piles  the  drifty  heap  !       80 

Think  on  the  dungeon's  grim  confine. 

Where  Guilt  and  poor  Misfortune  pine  ! 

Guilt,  erring  man,  relenting  view  ! 

But  shall  thy  legal  rage  pursue 

The  wretch,  already  crushed  low  85 

By  cruel  Fortune's  undeserved  blow  ? 

Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  distress ; 

A  brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite  the  bliss ! " 

I  heard  nae  mair,  for  chanticleer 

Shook  off  the  pouthery  snaw,  90 

And  hailed  the  morning  with  a  cheer  — 

A  cottage-rousing  craw. 

But  deep  this  truth  impress'd  my  mind  — ■ 

Through  all  His  works  abroad, 
The  heart  benevolent  and  kind  95 

The  most  resembles  God. 


TO  A    JIAGGIS.  121 

TO   A    HAGGIS. 

Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face, 
Great  chieftain  o'  the  puddin-race  ! 
Aboon  them  a'  ye  tak  your  place, 

Painch,  tripe,  or  thairm: 
Weel  are  ye  wordy  o'  a  grace  5 

As  lang  's  my  arm. 

The  groaning  trencher  there  ye  fill, 
Your  hurdles  like  a  distant  hill, 
Your  pin  wad  help  to  mend  a  mill 

In  time  o'  need,  lo 

While  thro'  your  pores  the  dews  distil 

Like  amber  bead. 

His  knife  see  rustic  Labour  dight, 

And'cut  you  up  wi'  ready  slight, 

Trenching  your  gushing  entrails  bright  15 

Like  ony  ditch  ; 
And  then,  O  what  a  glorious  sight, 

Warm-reekin,  rich  ! 

Then  horn  for  horn  they  stretch  an'  strive  : 

Deil  tak'  the  hindmost !  on  they  drive,  20 

Till  a'  their  weel-swall'd  kytes  belyve 

Are  bent  like  drums  ; 
Then  auld  guidman,  maist  like  to  rive, 

"  Bethanket !  "  hums. 

Is  there  that  owre  his  French  ragout,  25 

Or  olio  that  wad  staw  a  sow. 
Ox  fricassee  wad  mak  her  spew 

Wi'  perfect  scunner, 
Looks  down  wi'  sneering,  scornfu'  view 

On  sic  a  dinner,?  30 


122  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Poor  devil  !  see  him  owre  his  trash, 
As  feckless  as  a  wither'd  rash, 
His  spindle  shank  a  guid  whip-lash, 

His  nieve  a  nit ; 
Thro'  bloody  flood  or  field  to  dash  35 

Oh  how  unfit ! 

But  mark  the  rustic,  haggis-fed. 

The  trembling  earth  resounds  his  tread, 

Clap  in  his  walie  nieve  a  blade. 

He  '11  mak  it  whissle  ;  4° 

And  legs  an'  arms  an'  heads  will  sned 

Like  taps  o'  thrissle. 

Ye  pow'rs  wha  mak  mankind  your  care, 

And  dish  them  out  their  bill  o'  fare, 

Auld  Scotland  wants  nae  skinking  ware  45 

That  jaups  in  luggies  ; 
But,  if  ye  wish  her  gratefu'  pray'r, 

Gie  her  a  haggis  ! 


ANSWER   TO   VERSES   ADDRESSED   TO   THE   POET 
BY    THE    GUIDWIFE    OF    WAUCHOPE-HOUSE. 
GUIDWIFE, 

I  mind  it  weel  in  early  date, 

When  I  was  beardless,  young,  and  blate, 

An'  first  could  thresh  the  barn, 
Or  haud  a  yokin  at  the  pleugh. 
An'  tho'  forfoughten  sair  eneugh, 

Yet  unco  proud  to  learn  : 
When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 


ANSWER   TO  VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO   THE  POET.    123 

A  man  1  reckon'd  was, 
And  wi'  the  lave  ilk  merry  morn 

Could  rank  my  rig  and  lass,  lo 

Still  shearing,  and  clearing 

The  tither  stooked  raw, 
Wi'  claivers  an'  haivers 
Wearing  the  day  awa  : 

Ev'n  then  a  wish  (I  mind  its  power),  15 

A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast ; 
That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake 
Some  usefu'  plan  or  beuk  could  make, 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least.  20 

The  rough  burr-thistle,  spreading  wide 

-Amang  the  bearded  bear, 
I  turn'd  the  weeder-clips  aside 
An'  spar'd  the  symbol  dear : 

No  nation,  no  station  25 

My  envy  e'er  could  raise  ; 
A  Scot  still,  but  blot  still, 
I  knew  nae  higher  praise. 

But  still  the  elements  o'  sang 

In  formless  jumble,  right  an'  wrang,  3° 

Wild  floated  in  my  brain  ; 
Till  on  that  hairst  I  said  before. 
My  partner  in  the  merry  core 

She  rous'd  the  forming  strain  : 
I  see  her  yet,  the  sonsie  quean,  35 

That  lighted  up  my  jingle, 
Her  witching  smile,  her  pauky  een. 

That  gart  my  heart-strings  tingle ; 
I  firbd,  inspired, 


124  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

At  ev'ry  kindling  keek,  4° 

But  bashing,  and  dashing, 
I  feared  aye  to  speak. 

Health  to  the  sex  !  ilk  guid  chiel  says, 
Wi'  merry  dance  on  winter  days. 

An'  we  to  share  in  common :  45 

The  gust  o'  joy,  the  balm  of  woe, 
The  saul  o'  life,  the  heav'n  below. 

Is  rapture-giving  Woman. 
Ye  surly  sumphs,  who  hate  the  name, 

Be  mindfu'  o'  your  mither  :  5° 

She,  honest  woman,  may  think  shame 
That  ye  're  connected  with  her. 
Ye  're  wae  men,  ye  're  nae  men. 
That  slight  the  lovely  dears  ; 
To  shame  ye,  disclaim  ye,  55 

Ilk  honest  birkie  swears. 

For  you,  no  bred  to  barn  and  byre, 
Wha  sweetly  tune  the  Scottish  lyre, 

Thanks  to  you  for  your  line : 
The  marl'd  plaid  ye  kindly  spare  6o 

By  me  should  gratefully  be  ware  ; 

'T  wad  please  me  to  the  nine. 
I  'd  be  more  vauntie  o'  my  hap. 

Douce  hingin  owre  my  curple, 
Than  ony  ermine  ever  lap,  65 

Or  proud  imperial  purple. 

Farewell  then,  lang  hale  then 

An'  plenty  be  your  fa': 
May  losses  and  crosses 

Ne'er  at  your  hallan  ca' !  7° 


THE   B IRA'S   OF  ABERFELDY.  125 


THE   BIRKS    OF   ABERFELDY. 

Now  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes, 
And  o'er  the  crystal  streamlet  plays ; 
Come,  let  us  spend  the  lightsome  days 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

CHORUS.  —  Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go,  5 

Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 
Bonie  lassie,  will  ye  go 

To  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy? 

The  little  birdies  blythely  sing, 
While  o'er  their  heads  the  hazels  hing,  lo 

Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing 
'In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

The  braes  ascend,  like  lofty  wa's, 
The  foaming  stream  deep-roaring  fa's, 
O'erhung  wi'  fragrant  spreading  shaws,  15 

The  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

The  hoary  cliffs  are  crown 'd  wi'  flowers. 
White  o'er  the  linns  the  burnie  pours, 
An',  rising,  weets  wi'  misty  showers 

The  birks  of  Aberfeldy.  20 

Let  Fortune's  gifts  at  random  flee. 
They  ne'er  shall  draw  a  wish  frae  me, 
Supremely  blest  wi'  love  and  thee 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 


126  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

THE    HUMBLE    PETITION    OF   BRUAR    WATER 

TO  THE  NOBLE  DUKE  OF  ATHOLE. 

My  lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear 

Woe  ne'er  assails  in  vain  ; 
Embolden'd  thus,  I  beg  you  '11  hear 

Your  humble  slave  complain. 
How  saucy  Phoebus'  scorching  beams,  S 

In  flaming  summer-pride, 
Dry-withering,  waste  my  foamy  streams 

And  drink  my  crystal  tide. 

The  lightly-jumpin  glowrin  trouts, 

That  thro'  my  waters  play,  lo 

If,  in  their  random,  wanton  spouts, 

They  near  the  margin  stray ; 
If,  hapless  chance  !  they  linger  lang, 

I  'm  scorching  up  so  shallow, 
They 're  left  the  whitening  stanes  amang,  15 

In  gasping  death  to  wallow. 

Last  day  I  grat  wi'  spite  and  teen. 

As  poet  Burns  came  by, 
That  to  a  bard  I  should  be  seen 

Wi'  half  my  channel  dry  :  20 

A  panegyric  rhyme,  I  ween. 

Even  as  I  was  he  shor'd  me  ; 
But  had  I  in  my  glory  been, 

He,  kneeling,  wad  ador'd  me. 

Here,  foaming  down  the  skelvy  rocks,  25 

In  twisting  strength  I  rin  ; 
There,  high  my  boiling  torrent  smokes, 

Wild-roaring  o'er  a  linn  : 


THE  HUMBLE   PETITION  OF  BRUAR   WATER.      127 

Enjoying  large  each  spring  and  well 

As  Nature  gave  them  me,  30 

I  am,  altho'  I  say  't  mysel. 

Worth  gaun  a  mile  to  see. 

Would  then  my  noble  master  please 

To  grant  my  highest  wishes, 
He  '11  shade  my  banks  wi  tow'ring  trees  35 

And  bonie  spreading  bushes. 
Delighted  doubly  then,  my  lord. 

You  '11  wander  on  my  banks, 
And  listen  monie  a  grateful  bird 

Return  you  tuneful  thanks.  40 

The  sober  laverock,  warbling  wild, 

Shall  to  the  skies  aspire  ; 
The  gowdspink.  Music's  gayest  child, 

Shall  sweetly  join  the  choir  ; 
The  blackbird  strong,  the  lintwhite  clear,  45 

The  mavis  mild  and  mellow. 
The  robin,  pensive  Autumn  cheer 

In  all  her  locks  of  yellow. 

This,  too,  a  covert  shall  ensure 

To  shield  them  from  the  storm  ;  50 

And  coward  maukin  sleep  secure. 

Low  in  her  grassy  form  : 
Here  shall  the  shepherd  make  his  seat 

To  weave  his  crown  of  flow'rs, 
Or  find  a  sheltering  safe  retreat  55 

From  prone-descending  show'rs. 

And  here,  by  sweet  endearing  stealth, 
Shall  meet  the  loving  pair. 


128  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Despising  worlds  with  all  their  wealth 

As  empty,  idle  care  :  60 

The  flow'rs  shall  vie  in  all  their  charms 
The  hour  of  heav'n  to  grace, 

And  birks  extend  their  fragrant  arms 
To  screen  the  dear  embrace. 

Here  haply  too  at  vernal  dawn  65 

Some  musing  bard  may  stray, 
And  eye  the  smoking,  dewy  lawn 

And  misty  mountain  gray  ; 
Or  by  the  reaper's  nightly  beam, 

Mild-chequering  thro'  the  trees,  70 

Rave  to  my  darkly  dashing  stream, 

Hoarse-swelling  on  the  breeze. 

Let  lofty  firs  and  ashes  cool 

My  lowly  banks  o'erspread. 
And  view,  deep-bending  in  the  pool,  75 

Their  shadows'  wat'ry  bed  : 
Let  fragrant  birks  in  woodbines  drest 

My  craggy  cliffs  adorn  ; 
And,  for  the  little  songster's  nest, 

The  close  embow'ring  thorn.  80 

So  may  old  Scotia's  darling  hope. 

Your  little  angel  band. 
Spring,  like  their  fathers,  up  to  prop 

Their  honour'd  native  land ! 
So  may  thro'  Albion's  farthest  ken  85 

To  social-flowing  glasses 
The  grace  be —  "  Athole's  honest  men 

And  Athole's  bonie  lasses  !  " 


BLYTHE,  BLYTHE   AND   MERRY  WAS  SHE.         129 


THE  BANKS  OF  THE  DEVON. 

How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear  winding  Devon, 

With  green  spreading  bushes,  and  flowers  blooming  fair! 
But  the  boniest  flower  on  the  banks  of  the  Devon 

Was  once  a  sweet  bud  on  the  braes  of  the  Ayr. 
Mild  be  the  sun  on  this  sweet  blushing  flower,  5 

In  the  gay  rosy  morn  as  it  bathes  in  the  dew  ; 
And  gentle  the  fall  of  the  soft  vernal  shower, 

That  steals  on  the  evening  each  leaf  to  renew. 

O  spare  the  dear  blossom,  ye  orient  breezes. 

With  chill  hoary  wing  as  ye  usher  the  dawn!  lo 

And  far  be  thou  distant,  thou  reptile  that  seizes 

The  verdure  and  pride  of  the  garden  and  lawn  ! 
Let  Bourbon  exult  in  his  gay  gilded  lilies, 

And  England,  triumphant,  display  her  proud  rose ; 
A  fairer  than  either  adorns  the  green  valleys,  15 

Where  Devon,  sweet  Devon,  meandering  flows. 


BLYTHE,  BLYTHE  AND  MERRY  WAS  SHE. 

By  Ochtertyre  grows  the  aik. 

On  Yarrow  banks  the  birken  shaw ; 

But  Phemie  was  a  bonier  lass 
Than  braes  o'  Yarrow  ever  saw. 

CHORUS.  —  Blythe,  blythe  and  merry  was  she, 
Blythe  was  she  but  and  ben  : 
Blythe  by  the  banks  of  Earn, 
An'  blythe  in  Glenturit  glen. 


130  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Her  looks  were  like  a  flow'r  in  May, 

Her  smile  was  like  a  simmer  morn :  lo 

She  tripped  by  the  banks  o'  Earn, 
As  light 's  a  bird  upon  a  thorn. 

Her  bonie  face  it  was  as  meek 

As  ony  lamb  upon  a  lea ; 
The  evening  sun  was  ne'er  sae  sweet  15 

As  was  the  blink  o'  Phemie's  ee. 

The  Highland  hills  I  've  wander'd  wide. 
An'  o'er  the  Lawlands  I  hae  been ; 

But  Phemie  was  the  blythest  lass 

That  ever  trod  the  dewy  green.  20 


M'PHERSON'S    FAREWELL. 

Farewell,  ye  dungeons  dark  and  strong, 

The  wretch's  destinie  ! 
M'Pherson's  time  will  not  be  long 

On  yonder  gallows  tree. 

CHORUS.  —  Sae  rantinly,  sae  wantonly,  S 

Sae  dauntinly  gaed  he ; 
He  play'd  a  spring  and  danc'd  it  round, 
Below  the  gallows  tree. 

0  what  is  death  but  parting  breath?  — 

On  monie  a  bloody  plain  10 

1  've  dar'd  his  face,  and  in  this  place 

I  scorn  him  yet  again ! 

Untie  these  bands  from  off  my  hands 
And  bring  to  me  my  sword, 


MV  HOGGIE.  131 

And  there  's  no  man  in  all  Scotland,  15 

But  I  'II  brave  him  at  a  word. 

I  've  liv'd  a  life  of  sturt  and  strife ; 

I  die  by  treacherie  : 
It  burns  my  heart  I  must  depart 

And  not  avenged  be.  20 

Now  farewell  light,  thou  sunshine  bright, 

And  all  beneath  the  sky! 
May  coward  shame  distain  his  name, 

The  wretch  that  dare  not  die  ! 


MY   HOGGIE. 

What  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die? 

My  joy,  my  pride,  my  Hoggie? 
My  only  beast,  I  had  nae  mae, 

And  vow  but  I  was  vogie  ! 

The  lee-lang  night  we  watch'd  the  fauld,  S 

Me  and  my  faithfu'  doggie; 
We  heard  nocht  but  the  roaring  linn 

Amang  the  braes  sae  scroggie  ; 

But  the  howlet  cry'd  frae  the  castle  wa', 

The  blitter  frae  the  boggie,  10 

The  tod  reply'd  upon  the  hill, 
I  trembled  for  my  Hoggie. 

When  day  did  daw  and  cocks  did  craw, 

The  morning  it  was  foggie; 
An  unco  tyke  lap  o'er  the  dyke,  15 

And  maist  has  kill'd  my  Hoggie ! 


132  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


EPISTLE   TO   HUGH    PARKER. 


In  this  strange  land,  this  uncouth  clime, 

A  land  unknown  to  prose  or  rhyme ; 

Where  words  ne'er  crost  the  Muse's  heckles 

Nor  limpit  in  poetic  shackles  ; 

A  land  that  Prose  did  never  view  it,  5 

Except  when  drunk  he  stacher't  through  it ; 

Here,  ambush'd  by  the  chimla  cheek, 

Hid  in  an  atmosphere  of  reek, 

I  hear  a  wheel  thrum  i'  the  neuk,  — 

I  hear  it,  for  in  vain  I  leuk,  10 

The  red  peat  gleams,  a  fiery  kernel, 

Enhusked  by  a  fog  infernal : 

Here,  for  my  wonted  rhyming  raptures, 

I  sit  and  count  my  sins  by  chapters  ; 

For  life  and  spunk  like  ither  Christians,  15 

I  'm  dwindled  down  to  mere  existence, 

Wi'  nae  converse  but  Gallowa'  bodies, 

Wi'  nae  ken'd  face  but  Jenny  Geddes. 

Jenny,  my  Pegasean  pride  ! 

Dowie  she  saunters  down  Nithside,  20 

And  ay  a  westlin  leuk  she  throws, 

While  tears  hap  o'er  her  auld  brown  nose ! 

Was  it  for  this  wi'  canny  care 

Thou  bure  the  Bard  through  many  a  shire  ? 

At  howes  or  hillocks  never  stumbled,  25 

And  late  or  early  never  grumbled  ?  — 

0  had  I  power  like  Inclination, 

1  'd  heeze  thee  up  a  constellation. 
To  canter  with  the  Sagitarre, 

Or  loup  the  ecliptic  like  a  bar ;  30 

Or  turn  the  pole  like  any  arrow ; 

Or,  when  auld  Phoebus  bids  good-morrow. 


OF  A'   THE   AIRTS    THE    WIND    CAN  BLAW.         133 

Down  the  zodiac  urge  the  race, 

And  cast  dirt  on  his  godship's  face  ; 

For  I  could  lay  my  bread  and  kail  35 

He  'd  ne'er  cast  saut  upo'  thy  tail. — 

Wi'  a'  this  care  and  a'  this  grief, 

And  sma',  sma'  prospect  of  relief, 

And  nought  but  peat  reek  i'  my  head, 

How  can  I  write  what  ye  can  read  ?  —  40 

Tarbolton,  twenty-fourth  o'  June, 

Ye  '11  find  me  in  a  better  tune ; 

But  till  we  meet  and  weet  our  whistle, 

Tak  this  excuse  for  nae  epistle. 


OF   A'   THE    AIRTS   THE    WIND   CAN   BLAW. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
There  's  wild  woods  grow  an'  rivers  row,  5 

An'  mony  a  hill  between  ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flow'rs, 

I  see  her  sweet  an'  fair:  10 

I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air: 
There  's  not  a  bonie  flow'r  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green  ; 
There  's  not  a  bonie  bird  that  sings,  iS 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 


134  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


AULD   LANG   SYNE. 


Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  min'  ? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  auld  lang  syne  ? 

CHORUS.  —  For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear,  5 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
We  '11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

And  surely  ye  '11  be  your  pint-stowp. 

And  surely  I  '11  be  mine  !  lo 

And  we  '11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine  ; 
But  we  've  wander'd  mony  a  weary  fit  iS 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  the  burn, 

From  mornin'  sun  till  dine ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne.  20 

And  there 's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fier. 

And  gie  's  a  hand  o'  thine  ; 
And  we  '11  tak  a  right  guid-willie  waught 

For  auld  lang  syne. 


JOHN  ANDERSON  MY  JO.  135 


GO    FETCH    TO    ME   A    PINT   O'    WINE. 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 

And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie  ; 
That  I  may  drink,  before  I  go, 

A  service  to  my  bonie  lassie  : 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  o'  Leith,  5 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae  the  Ferry; 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-law, 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonie  Mary. 

The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly. 

The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready,  lo 

The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar, 

The  battle  closes  deep  and  bloody  ; 
It 's  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 

Would  mak  me  langer  wish  to  tarry ; 
Nor  shouts  o'  war  that 's  heard  afar —  15 

It 's  leaving  thee,  my  bonie  Mary  ! 


JOHN    ANDERSON   MY   JO. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven. 

Your  bonie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  beld,  John,  5 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snaw ; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither;  10 


136  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

And  monie  a  canty  day,  John, 

We  've  had  wi'  ane  anither: 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

And  hand  in  hand  we  '11  go, 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot,  15 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 


TAM   GLEN. 


My  heart  is  a-breaking,  dear  tittie. 

Some  counsel  unto  me  come  len' ; 
To  anger  them  a'  is  a  pity. 

But  what  will  I  do  wi'  Tarn  Glen? 

I  'm  thinking,  wi'  sic  a  braw  fellow,  5 

In  poortith  I  might  mak  a  fen' : 
What  care  I  in  riches  to  wallow. 

If  I  maunna  marry  Tam  Glen  ? 

There  's  Lowrie,  the  laird  o'  Dumeller, 

"Guid-day  to  you," — brute  !  he  comes  ben  :        10 
He  brags  and  he  blaws  o'  his  siller, 

But  when  will  he  dance  like  Tam  Glen.? 

My  minnie  does  constantly  deave  me, 

And  bids  me  beware  o'  young  men; 
They  flatter,  she  says,  to  deceive  me  ;  15 

But  wha  can  think  sae  o'  Tam  Glen? 

My  daddie  says,  gin  I  '11  forsake  him. 

He  '11  gie  me  guid  hunder  marks  ten : 
But,  if  it 's  ordain 'd  I  maun  take  him, 

O  wha  will  I  get  but  Tam  Glen?  20 


WILLIE   BREWED   A    PECK  O'  MAUT.  137 

Yestreen  at  the  valentines'  dealing, 

My  heart  to  my  mou  gied  a  sten : 
For  thrice  I  drew  ane  without  failing, 

And  thrice  it  was  written,  "  Tarn  Glen  "  ! 

The  last  Halloween  I  was  waukin  25 

My  droukit  sark-sleeve,  as  ye  ken : 
His  likeness  cam  up  the  house  staukin. 

And  the  very  gray  breeks  o'  Tam  Glen! 

Come  counsel,  dear  tittie,  don't  tarry; 

I  '11  gie  ye  my  bonie  black  hen,  30 

Gif  ye  will  advise  me  to  marry 

The  lad  I  lo'e  dearly,  Tam  Glen. 


WILLIE   BREWED    A   PECK    O'   MAUT. 

O,  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut, 

An'  Rob  an'  Allan  cam  to  see : 
Three  blyther  hearts  that  lee-lang  night 

Ye  wad  na  found  in  Christendie. 

Chorus.  —  We  are  na  fou,  we  're  nae  that  fou,  « 

But  just  a  drappie  in  our  ee; 
The  cock  may  craw,  the  day  may  daw, 
And  aye  we  '11  taste  the  barley  bree. 

Here  are  we  met,  three  merry  boys. 

Three  merry  boys,  I  trow,  are  we  ;  10 

An'  mony  a  night  we  've  merry  been, 
And  mony  mae  we  hope  to  be  1 

It  is  the  moon,  I  ken  her  horn, 
That 's  blinkin  in  the  lift  sae  hie ; 


138  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

She  shines  sae  bright  to  wile  us  hame,  15 

But,  by  my  sooth,  she  '11  wait  a  wee ! 

Wha  first  shall  rise  to  gang  awa', 

A  cuckold,  coward  loon  is  he ! 
Wha  first  beside  his  chair  shall  fa', 

He  is  the  king  amang  us  three !  20 


TO  MARY    IN    HEAVEN. 

Thou  ling'ring  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
O  Mary!  dear  departed  shade!  5 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest? 
See'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget, 

Can  I  forget  the  hallowed  grove,  10 

Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ? 
Eternity  will  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past, 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace —  iS 

Ah !  little  thought  we  't  was  our  last ! 

Ayr,  gurgling,  kiss'd  his  pebbl'd  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild  woods,  thick'ning  green ; 

The  fragrant  birch  and  hawthorn  hoar 

Twin'd  amorous  round  the  raptur'd  scene  :  20 


TO   DR.  BLACKLOCK.  139 

The  flow'rs  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest, 

The  birds  sang  love  on  every  spray, 
Till  too,  too  soon  the  glowing  west 

Proclaim'd  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

Still  o'er  these  scenes  my  mem'ry  wakes,  25 

And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care  ! 
Time  but  th'  impression  stronger  makes, 

As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 
My  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ?  3° 

See'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid.^ 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 


TO    DR.    BLACKLOCK. 

Wow,  but  your  letter  made  me  vauntie  ! 
And  are  ye  hale,  and  weel,  and  cantie  ? 
I  ken'd  it  still,  your  wee  bit  jauntie 

Wad  bring  you  to  : 
Lord  send  ye  aye  as  weel 's  I  want  ye,  5 

And  then  ye  '11  do. 

The  Ill-Thief  blaw  the  Heron  south  ! 
And  never  drink  be  near  his  drouth ! 
He  tauld  mysel'  by  word  o'  mouth. 

He  'd  tak'  my  letter  ;  10 

I  lippen'd  to  the  chield  in  trouth. 

And  bade  nae  better. 

But  aiblins  honest  Master  Heron, 
Had  at  the  time  some  dainty  fair  one, 


140  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

To  ware  his  theologic  care  on,  15 

And  holy  study; 
And,  tir'd  o'  sauls  to  waste  his  lear  on, 

E'en  tried  the  body. 

But  what  d'  ye  think,  my  trusty  fier  ? 

I  'm  turn'd  a  gauger- —  Peace  be  here  !  20 

Parnassian  queens,  I  fear,  I  fear 

Ye  '11  now  disdain  me  ! 
And  then  my  fifty  pounds  a  year 

Will  little  gain  me. 

Ye  glaiket,  gleesome,  dainty  damies,  25 

Wha,  by  Castalia's  wimplin  streamies, 
Lowp,  sing,  and  lave  your  pretty  limbies, 

Ye  ken,  ye  ken, 
That  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 

'Mang  sons  o'  men.  30 

I  hae  a  wife  and  twa  wee  laddies,  — 

They  maun  hae  brose  and  brats  o'  duddies  ; 

Ye  ken  yoursels  my  heart  right  proud  is, 

I  need  na  vaunt. 
But  I  '11  sned  besoms,  thraw  saugh  woodies,     •    35 

Before  they  want. 

Lord  help  me  thro'  this  warld  o'  care ! 
I  'm  weary  —  sick  o  't  late  and  air  ! 
Not  but  I  hae  a  richer  share 

Than  monie  ithers  ;  40 

But  why  should  ae  man  better  fare, 

And  a'  men  brithers? 

Come,  firm  Resolve,  take  thou  the  van, 
Thou  stalk  o'  carl-hemp  in  man ! 


ON  C ATTAIN  MATTHEW  HENDERSON.  141 

And  let  us  mind,  faint  heart  ne'er  wan  45 

A  lady  fair : 
Wha  does  the  utmost  that  he  can, 

Will  whyles  do  mair. 

But  to  conclude  my  silly  rhyme, 

(I  'm  scant  o'  verse,  and  scant  o'  time,)  50 

To  make  a  happy  fire-side  clime 

To  weans  and  wife, 
That 's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 

Of  human  life. 

My  compliments  to  sister  Beckie  55 

And  eke  the  same  to  honest  Lucky: 
I  wat  she  is  a  daintie  chuckle 

As  e'er  tread  clay  : 
And  gratefully,  my  guid  auld  cockie, 

1  'm  yours  for  aye.  60 


ON   CAPTAIN    MATTHEW    HENDERSON, 

A   GENTLEMAN    WHO    HELD   THE   PATENT    FOR    HIS   HONOURS 
IMMEDIATELY    FROM    ALMIGHTY    GOD. 

But  now  his  radiant  course  is  run, 

For  Matthew's  course  was  bright : 
His  soul  was  like  the  glorious  sun, 

A  matchless,  Heavenly  light. 

O  Death  !  thou  tyrant  fell  an'  bloody! 
The  meikle  devil  wi'  a  woodie 
Haurl  thee  hame  to  his  black  smiddie 

O'er  hurcheon  hides, 
An'  like  stock-fish  come  o'er  his  studdie 

Wi'  thy  auld  sides ! 


142  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

He 's  gane  !  he  's  gane  !  he  's  frae  us  torn, 
The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born  ! 
Thee,  Matthew,  Nature's  sel  shall  mourn 

By  wood  an'  wild,  lo 

Where,  haply,  Pity  strays  forlorn, 

Frae  man  exil'd ! 

Ye  hills  !  near  neibors  o'  the  starns. 

That  proudly  cock  your  cresting  cairns  ! 

Ye  cliffs,  the  haunts  of  sailing  yearns,  15 

Where  Echo  slumbers! 
Come  join  ye.  Nature's  sturdiest  bairns, 

My  wailing  numbers ! 

Mourn,  ilka  grove  the  cushat  kens  ! 

Ye  haz'ly  shaws  an'  briery  dens  !  20 

Ye  burnies,  wimplin  down  your  glens, 

Wi'  toddlin  din. 
Or  foaming  Strang  wi'  hasty  stens 

Frae  linn  to  linn  ! 

Mourn,  little  harebells  o'er  the  lea;  25 

Ye  stately  foxgloves  fair  to  see  ; 
Ye  woodbines,  hanging  bonilie 

In  scented  bow'rs  ; 
Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree. 

The  first  o'  flow'rs.  30 

At  dawn,  when  ev'ry  grassy  blade 

Droops  with  a  diamond  at  his  head ; 

At  ev'n,  when  beans  their  fragrance  shed 

I'  th'  rustling  gale,  — 
Ye  maukins  whiddin  thro'  the  glade,  35 

Come  join  my  wail. 


ON  CAPTAIN  MATTHEW  HENDERSON.  143 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood ; 
Ye  grouse  that  crap  the  heather  bud  ; 
Ye  curlews  calling  thro'  a  clud  ; 

Ye  whistling  plover;  40 

And  mourn,  ye  whirring  paitrick  brood  ; 

He  's  gane  for  ever  ! 

Mourn,  sooty  coots  and  speckled  teals ; 

Ye  fisher  herons,  watching  eels ; 

Ye  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels  45 

Circling  the  lake ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels, 

Rair  for  his  sake. 

Mourn,  clam'ring  craiks  at  close  o'  day, 

'Mang  fields  o'  flow'ring  clover  gay;  50 

And  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore. 
Tell  thae  far  warlds  wha  lies  in  clay, 

Wham  we  deplore. 

Ye  houlets,  frae  your  ivy  bow'r  55 

In  some  auld  tree  or  eldritch  tow'r, 
What  time  the  moon,  wi'  silent  glow'r, 

Sets  up  her  horn. 
Wail  thro'  the  dreary  midnight  hour 

Till  waukrife  morn !  60 

O  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  my  canty  strains: 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

But  tales  of  woe  ? 
And  frae  my  een  the  drappin  rains  65 

Maun  ever  fiow. 


144  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Mourn,  Spring,  thou  darling  of  the  year  ! 
Ilk  cowslip  cup  shall  kep  a  tear  : 
Thou,  Simmer,  while  each  corny  spear 

Shoots  up  its  head,  70 

Thy  gay,  greea,  flow'ry  tresses  shear, 

For  him  that 's  dead  ! 

Thou,  Autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair, 

In  grief  thy  sallow  mantle  tear ! 

Thou,  Winter,  hurling  thro'  the  air  75 

The  roaring  blast. 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  world  declare 

The  worth  we  've  lost  ! 

Mourn  him,  thou  Sun,  great  source  of  light ! 
Mourn,  Empress  of  the  silent  night !  80 

And  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies  bright. 

My  Matthew  mourn  ! 
For  through  your  orbs  he  's  taen  his  flight, 

Ne'er  to  return. 

O  Henderson !  the  man  !  the  brother  !  85 

And  art  thou  gone,  and  gone  for  ever  ? 
And  hast  thou  crost  that  unknown  river, 

Life's  dreary  bound  ? 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 

The  world  around  ?  9° 

Go  to  your  sculptur'd  tombs,  ye  Great, 
In  a'  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state  ! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I  '11  wait, 

Thou  man  of  worth  ! 
And  weep  the  ae  best  fellow's  fate  95 

E'er  lay  in  earth. 


TAM  O'  SHANTER.  145 


TAM    O'   SHANTER. 

A    TALE. 

Of  Brownyis  and  of  Bogillis  full  is  this  Buke. —  Gawin  Douglas. 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
And  drouthy  neibors  neibors  meet, 
As  market-days  are  wearing  late. 
And  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate  ; 
While  we  sit  bousin  at  the  nappy,  5 

And  gettin  fou  and  unco  happy. 
We  think  na  on  the  lang  Scots  miles, 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  and  stiles, 
That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame, 
Whare  sits  our  sulky,  sullen  dame,  lo 

Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm. 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand  honest  Tam  o'  Shanter, 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter  : 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses,  15 

For  honest  men  and  bonie  lasses.) 

O  Tam  !  had'st  thou  but  been  sae  wise 
As  taen  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice ! 
She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  was  a  skellum, 
A  bletherin,  blusterin,  drunken  blellum  ;  20 

That  frae  November  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  na  sober; 
That  ilka  melder  wi'  the  miller, 
Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller  ; 
That  ev'ry  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on,  25 

The  smith  and  thee  gat  roarin  fou  on  ; 
That  at  the  Lord's  house,  ev'n  on  Sunday, 
Thou  drank  wi'  Kirkton  Jean  till  Monday, 


146  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

She  prophesied,  that,  late  or  soon, 

Thou  would  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Doon  ;       3° 

Or  catch't  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirk, 

By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames  !  it  gars  me  greet, 
To  think  how  mony  counsels  sweet, 
How  mony  lengthened  sage  advices,  35 

The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises  ! 

But  to  our  tale  :  —  Ae  market  night, 
Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right. 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezin  finely, 
Wi'  reamin  swats  that  drank  divinely ;  4° 

And  at  his  elbow,  Souter  Johnie, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony: 
Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither  ; 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither. 
The  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter;  45 

And  ay  the  ale  was  growing  better: 
The  landlady  and  Tam  grew  gracious 
Wi'  secret  favours,  sweet,  and  precious  : 
The  souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories  ; 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus  :  5° 

The  storm  without  might  rair  and  rustle, 
Tam  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy. 
E'en  drown'd  himsel  amang  the  nappy : 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure,  55 

The  minutes  wing'd  their  way  wi'  pleasure  ; 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious, 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious  ! 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread. 
You  seize  the  flow'r,  its  bloom  is  shed ;  6o 


TAM  C  SHANTER.  147 

Or  like  the  snow  falls  in  the  river, 

A  moment  white  —  then  melts  for  ever ; 

Or  like  the  borealis  race, 

That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place  ; 

Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form  65 

Evanishing  amid  the  storm. 

Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide  : 

The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride,  — 

That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the  key-stane, 

That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in ;  70 

And  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in, 

As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 

The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last; 
The  rattling  show'rs  rose  on  the  blast ; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallow'd  ;         75 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang  the  thunder  bellow'd: 
That  night,  a  child  might  understand. 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand.  ^ 

Weel  mounted  on  his  gray  mear,  Meg, 
A  better  never  lifted  leg,  80 

Tam  skelpit  on  thro'  dub  and  mire, 
Despising  wind  and  rain  and  fire  ; 
Whiles  holding  fast  his  guid  blue  bonnet, 
Whiles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots  sonnet, 
Whiles  glowrin  round  wi'  prudent  cares,  85 

Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares. 
Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Whare  ghaists  and  houlets  nightly  cry. 

By  this  time  he  was  cross  the  ford, 
Whare  in  the  snaw  the  chapman  smoor'd ;  9° 

And  past  the  birks  and  meikle  stane, 
Whare  drucken  Charlie  brak  's  neck-bane  ; 


148  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

And  thro'  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn, 

Whare  hunters  fand  the  murder'd  bairn ; 

And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  the  well,  95 

Whare  Mungo's  mither  hang'd  hersel. 

Before  him  Doon  pours  all  his  floods ; 

The  doubling  storm  roars  thro'  the  woods  ; 

The  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole, 

Near  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll ;  loo 

When,  glimmering  thro'  the  groaning  trees, 

Kirk-Alloway  seemed  in  a  bleeze  ; 

Thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glancing. 

And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  dancing. 

Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn  !  105 

What  dangers  thou  can'st  make  us  scorn ! 
Wi'  tippenny  we  fear  nae  evil ; 
Wi'  usquebae  we'll  face  the  devil! 
The  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tammie's  noddle, 
Fair  play,  he  car'd  na  deils  a  boddle.  "o 

But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd. 
Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonish'd, 
She  ventur'd  forward  on  the  light ; 
And,  wow  !    Tam  saw  an  unco  sight ! 

Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance  ;  "S 

Nae  cotillon  brent  new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels  : 
A  winnock  bunker  in  the  east, 
There  sat  Auld  Nick  in  shape  o'  beast ;  120 

A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large. 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge  ; 
He  screw'd  the  pipes  and  gart  them  skirl, 
Till  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl.  — 


TAM  O'  SHANTER.  149 

Coffins  stood  round  like  open  presses,  125 

That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses  ; 

And  by  some  devilish  cantraip  sleight 

Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light, 

By  which  heroic  Tam  was  able 

To  note  upon  the  haly  table  130 

A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet  aims ; 

Twa  span-lang,  wee,  unchristen'd  bairns  ; 

A  thief,  new-cutted  frae  the  rape  — 

Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape  ; 

Five  tomahawks,  wi'  blude  red-rusted;  i3S 

Five  scymitars,  wi'  murder  crusted ; 

A  garter,  which  a  babe  had  strangled ; 

A  knife,  a  father's  throat  had  mangled, 

Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft  — 

The  gray  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft ;  140 

Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu', 

Which  ev'n  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu'. 

As  Tammie  glowr'd,  amaz'd  and  curious. 
The  mirth  and  fun  grew  fast  and  furious: 
The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew,  145 

The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew  ; 
They  reel'd,  they  set,  they  cross'd,  they  cleekit. 
Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit 
And  coost  her  duddies  to  the  wark 
And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark !  150 

Now  Tam,  O  Tam  !    had  thae  been  queans, 
A'  plump  and  strapping  in  their  teens ! 
Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flannen. 
Been  snaw-white  seventeen  hunder  linen  !  — 
Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair,  »S5 

That  ance  were  plush,  o'  gude  blue  hair, 


150  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

I  wad  hae  gien  them  aff  my  hurdies, 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonie  burdies  ! 

But  wither'd  beldams,  auld  and  droll, 
Rigwoodie  hags  wad  spean  a  foal,  i6o 

Lowping  and  flinging  on  a  crummock, 
I  wonder  didna  turn  thy  stomach. 

But  Tam  ken'd  what  was  what  fu'  brawlie  ; 
There  was  ae  winsome  wench  and  walie, 
That  night  enlisted  in  the  core  165 

(Lang  after  ken'd  on  Carrick  shore : 
For  mony  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot, 
And  perish'd  mony  a  bonie  boat. 
And  shook  baith  meikle  corn  and  bear, 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear);  170 

Her  cutty  sark  o'  Paisley  harn, 
That  while  a  lassie  she  had  worn, 
In  longitude  tho'  sorely  scanty, 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vauntie. 
Ah  !  little  kent  thy  reverend  grannie,  175 

That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
Wi'  twa  pund  Scots  ('twas  a'  her  riches), 
Wad  ever  graced  a  dance  o'  witches  ! 

But  here  my  Muse  her  wing  maun  cow'r, 
Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  pow'r  ;  180 

To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  flang, 
(A  souple  jad  she  was  and  Strang,) 
And  how  Tam  stood  like  ane  bewitch'd. 
And  thought  his  very  een  enrich'd  ; 
Even  Satan  glowr'd  and  fidg'd  fu'  fain,  185 

And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and  main  : 
Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 
Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither, 


TAM  O'  SHANTER.  151 

And  roars  out,  "  Weel  done,  Cutty-sark!  " 

And  in  an  instant  all  was  dark :  19° 

And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied. 

When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke, 
When  plundering  herds  assail  their  byke  ; 
As  open  pussie's  mortal  foes,  ^95 

When,  pop  !  she  starts  before  their  nose  ; 
As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd. 
When  "  Catch  the  thief  !  "  resounds  aloud  ; 
So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 
Wi'  mony  an  eldritch  skriech  and  hollo.  200 

Ah,  Tarn  !   ah,  Tam  !   thou  '11  get  thy  fairin  ! 
In  hell  they  '11  roast  thee  like  a  herrin  ! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin  !  ..» 

Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman  ! 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg,  205 

And  win  the  key-stane  of  the  brig : 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  dare  na  cross. 
But  ere  the  key-stane  she  could  make, 
The  fient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake  !  210 

For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest. 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest. 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle ; 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle  — 
Ae  spring  brought  aff  her  master  hale,  215 

But  left  behind  her  ain  gray  tail : 
The  carlin  claught  her  by  the  rump. 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
Ilk  man  and  mother's  son,  take  heed,  220 


152  SELECTIONS  EKOM  BURNS. 

Whene'er  to  drink  you  are  inclin'd, 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind, 
Think,  ye  may  buy  the  joys  owre  dear, 
Remember  Tam  o'  Shanter's  mean 


BONIE   BOON. 

Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  blume  sae  fair  ? 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I  sae  fu'  o'  care  ? 

Thou '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie  bird,  5 

That  sings  upon  the  bough  ; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days, 

When  my  fause  luve  was  true. 

Thou '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie  bird, 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate  ;  lo 

For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang. 
And  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 

Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonie  Doon 

To  see  the  wood-bine  twine, 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve,  15 

And  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Frae  aff  its  thorny  tree  ; 
And  my  fause  luver  staw  my  rose 

But  left  the  thorn  wi'  me.  20 


FLO  IV  GENTLY,   SWEET  A  ETON.  153 


O    FOR   ANE-AND-TWENTY,   TAM. 

Chorus. —  An'  O  for  ane-and-twenty,  Tarn! 

And  hey,  sweet  ane-and-twenty,  Tam  ! 
I  '11  learn  my  kin  a  rattlin  sang, 
An  I  saw  ane-and-twenty,  Tam. 

They  snool  me  sair  an'  hand  me  down,  5 

An'  gar  me  look  like  bluntie,  Tam  ! 

But  three  short  years  will  soon  wheel  roun', 
An'  then  comes  ane-and-twenty,  Tam. 

A  gleib  o'  Ian',  a  claut  o'  gear, 

Was  left  me  by  my  auntie,  Tam :  lo 

At  kith  or  kin  I  need  na  spier. 

An  I  saw  ane-and-twenty,  Tam. 

They  '11  hae  me  wed  a  wealthy  coof, 
Tho'  I  mysel  hae  plenty,  Tam  ; 

But  hear'st  thou,  laddie!  there  's  my  loof,         ^5 
I  'm  thine  at  ane-and-twenty,  Tam. 


FLOW    GENTLY,    SWEET   AFTON. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise  ; 
My  Mary  's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen. 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den. 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 


154  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighbouring  hills, 

Far  mark'd  with  the  courses  of  clear  winding  rills  ■,  lo 

There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high, 

My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys  below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow ; 
There  oft,  as  mild  Evening  weeps  over  the  lea,  iS 

The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 

And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides  ; 

How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave. 

As  gathering  sweet  flow'rets  she  stems  thy  clear  wave.     20 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays  ; 
My  Mary  's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


AE   FOND    KISS. 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ; 

Ae  fareweel,  and  then  for  ever! 

Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee, 

Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage  thee. 

Who  shall  say  that  Fortune  grieves  him,  S 

While  the  star  of  hope  she  leaves  him  ? 

Me,  nae  cheerfu'  twinkle  lights  me; 

Dark  despair  around  benights  me. 

I  '11  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy, 

Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy  ;  10 

But  to  see  her  was  to  love  her  ; 

Love  but  her,  and  love  for  ever. 


THE   DEUK'S  DANG   O'ER   MY  DADDIE.  155 

Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  kindly, 

Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  blindly, 

Never  met  —  or  never  parted —  iS 

We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted. 

Fare  thee  weel,  thou  first  and  fairest ! 

Fare  thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest ! 

Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 

Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure !  20 

Ae  one  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ; 

Ae  f areweel,  alas,  for  ever ! 

Deep  in  heart-wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee, 

Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage  thee  ! 


THE   DEUK'S    DANG    O'ER    MY    DADDIE. 

The  bairns  gat  out  wi'  an  unco  shout : 

"  The  deuk  's  dang  o'er  my  daddie,  O  !  " 
"The  fient-ma-care,"  quo'  the  feirie  auld  wife, 

"  He  was  but  a  paidlin  body,  O  ! 
He  paidles  out,  and  he  paidles  in,  5 

An'  he  paidles  late  and  early,  O ; 
This  seven  lang  years  I  hae  lien  by  his  side, 

An'  he  is  but  a  fusionless  carlie,  O." 

"  O  haud  your  tongue,  my  feirie  auld  wife, 

O  haud  your  tongue  now,  Nansie,  O !  10 

I  've  seen  the  day,  and  sae  hae  ye, 

Ye  wadna  been  sae  donsie,  O  ; 
I  've  seen  the  day  ye  butter'd  my  brose 

And  cuddl'd  me  late  and  early,  O  ; 
But  downa-do  's  come  o'er  me  now,  iS 

And,  och,  I  find  it  sairly,  O!" 


156  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


THE   DEIL'S    AWA    WI'   THE   EXCISEMAN. 

The  deil  cam  fiddling  through  the  town, 
An'  danced  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman, 

And  ilka  wife  cries,  "Auld  Mahoun, 
I  wish  you  luck  o'  the  prize,  man  ! " 

Chorus.  — The  deil 's  awa,  the  deil 's  awa,  5 

The  deil 's  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman  ; 
He  's  danc'd  awa,  he 's  danc'd  awa, 
He 's  danc'd  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman  ! 

We  '11  mak  our  maut,  and  we  '11  brew  our  drink, 
We  '11  laugh,  sing,  an'  rejoice,  man ;  lo 

And  mony  braw  thanks  to  the  meikle  black  deil 
That  danc'd  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman. 

There's  threesome  reels,  there 's  foursome  reels, 
There  's  hornpipes  and  strathspeys,  man  ; 

But  the  ae  best  dance  e'er  cam  to  the  land 
Was — The  deil 's  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman.    15 


BESSY   AND   HER   SPINNIN    WHEEL. 

O  LEEZE  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel, 

0  leeze  me  on  my  rock  and  reel ; 
Frae  tap  to  tae  that  deeds  me  bien. 
And  haps  me  fiel  and  warm  at  e'en  ! 

1  '11  set  me  down  and  sing  and  spin. 
While  laigh  descends  the  simmer  sun, 
Blest  wi'  content,  and  milk  and  meal  — 
O  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel. 


BONIE   LESLEY.  157 

On  ilka  hand  the  burnies  trot, 

And  meet  below  my  theekit  cot ;  lo 

The  scented  birk  and  hawthorn  white 

Across  the  pool  their  arms  unite, 

Alike  to  screen  the  birdie's  nest, 

And  little  fishes'  caller  rest : 

The  sun  blinks  kindly  in  the  biel',  15 

Where  blythe  I  turn  my  spinnin  wheel. 

On  lofty  aiks  the  cushats  wail, 

And  echo  cons  the  doolfu'  tale  ; 

The  lintwhites  in  the  hazel  braes, 

Delighted,  rival  ither's  lays;  20 

The  craik  amang  the  claver  hay. 

The  paitrick  whirrin  o'er  the  ley, 

The  swallow  jinkin  round  my  shiel. 

Amuse  me  at  my  spinnin  wheel. 

Wi'  sma'  to  sell,  and  less  to  buy,  25 

Aboon  distress,  below  envy, 

O  wha  wad  leave  this  humble  state. 

For  a'  the  pride  of  a'  the  great.'' 

Amid  their  flarin,  idle  toys, 

Amid  their  cumbrous,  dinsome  joys,  30 

Can  they  the  peace  and  pleasure  feel 

Of  Bessy  at  her  spinnin  wheel } 


BONIE    LESLEY. 


O  SAW  ye  bonie  Lesley 

As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border  > 
She  's  gane,  like  Alexander, 

To  spread  her  conquests  farther. 


158  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

To  see  her  is  to  love  her,  5 

And  love  but  her  for  ever  ; 
For  Nature  made  her  what  she  is, 

And  never  made  anither  1 

Thou  art  a  queen,  fair  Lesley, 

Thy  subjects,  we  before  thee  :  lo 

Thou  art  divine,  fair  Lesley, 

The  hearts  o'  men  adore  thee. 

The  Deil  he  could  na  scaith  thee, 
Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thee ; 

He  'd  look  into  thy  bonie  face,  15 

And  say,  "  I  canna  wrang  thee." 

The  Powers  aboon  will  tent  thee ; 

Misfortune  sha'  na  steer  thee ; 
Thou  'rt  like  themselves  sae  lovely, 

That  ill  they  '11  ne'er  let  near  thee,  20 

Return  again,  fair  Lesley, 

Return  to  Caledonie  ! 
That  we  may  brag,  we  hae  a  lass 

There  's  nane  again  sae  bonie. 


MY   AIN   KIND    DEARIE. 

When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star 
Tells  bughtin  time  is  near,  my  jo. 

An'  owsen  frae  the  furrow'd  field 
Return  sae  dowf  an'  weary,  O; 


HIGHLAND  MARY.  159 

Down  by  the  burn,  where  scented  birks  S 

Wi'  dew  are  hangin  clear,  my  jo, 
I  '11  meet  thee  on  the  lea  rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 

In  mirkest  glen,  at  midnight  hour, 

I  'd  rove,  an'  ne'er  be  eerie,  O,  lo 

If  thro'  that  glen  I  gaed  to  thee, 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 
Altho'  the  night  were  ne'er  sae  wild. 

An'  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary,  O. 
I  'd  meet  thee  on  the  lea  rig,  15 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 

The  hunter  lo'es  the  morning  sun. 

To  rouse  the  mountain  deer,  my  jo ; 
At  noon  the  fisher  seeks  the  glen, 

Along  the  burn  to  steer,  my  jo  ;  20 

Gie  me  the  hour  o'  gloamin  gray, 

It  maks  my  heart  sae  cheery,  O, 
To  meet  thee  on  the  lea  rig. 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 


HIGHLAND    MARY. 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie  ! 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry ; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 


160  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

How  sweetly  bloom'd  the  gay  green  birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom,  lo 

As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings, 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie  ; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life,  15 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  monie  a  vow  and  lock'd  embrace 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender  ; 
And,  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  oursels  asunder  ;  20 

But  O  !  fell  death's  untimely  frost. 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early ! 
Now  green  's  the  sod,  and  cauld  's  the  clay. 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary  ! 

O  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips,  25 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly  ! 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance, 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly  ! 
And  mould'ring  now  in  silent  dust. 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly !  3° 

But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


DUNCAN   GRAY. 

Duncan  Gray  came  here  to  woo, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o '  t ! 

On  blythe  Yule  night  when  we  were  fou, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o  't ! 


DUNCAN  GRAY.  161 

Maggie  coost  her  head  fu  hiegh,  5 

Look'd  asklent  and  unco  skiesh, 
Gart  poor  Duncan  stand  abiegh ; 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't ! 

Duncan  fleech'd,  and  Duncan  pray'd ; 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't !  10 

Meg  was  deaf  as  Ailsa  Craig, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't! 
Duncan  sigh'd  baith  out  and  in, 
Grat  his  een  baith  bleer't  and  blin', 
Spak  o'  lowpin  owre  a  linn ;  15 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't! 

Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide. 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't! 
Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't!  20 

"  Shall  I,  like  a  fool,"  quoth  he, 
"  For  a  haughty  hizzie  die  ? 
She  may  gae  to — France  for  me!  " 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't ! 

How  it  comes  let  doctors  tell,  25 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't ! 
Meg  grew  sick  as  he  grew  hale, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't ! 
Something  in  her  bosom  wrings. 
For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings ;  30 

And  O  !  her  een,  they  spak  sic  things ! 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't! 

Duncan  was  a  lad  o'  grace, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't ! 
Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case,  35 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o't ! 


162  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Duncan  could  na  be  her  death, 
Swelling  pity  smoor'd  his  wrath  ; 
Now  they  're  crouse  and  cantie  baith ; 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooin  o  't !  4° 


GALA    WATER. 

Braw  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes, 

Ye  wander  thro'  the  blooming  heather ; 

But  Yarrow  braes  nor  Ettrick  shaws 
Can  match  the  lads  o'  Gala  Water. 

But  there  is  ane,  a  secret  ane,  5 

Aboon  them  a'  I  lo'e  him  better ; 
And  I  '11  be  his,  and  he  '11  be  mine, 

The  bonie  lad  o'  Gala  Water. 

Altho'  his  daddie  was  nae  laird, 

And  tho'  I  hae  nae  meikle  tocher ;  lo 

Yet  rich  in  kindest,  truest  love, 

We  '11  tent  our  flocks  by  Gala  Water. 

It  ne'er  was  wealth,  it  ne'er  was  wealth 
That  coft  contentment,  peace,  or  pleasure  ; 

The  bands  and  bliss  o'  mutual  love,  ^5 

O  that 's  the  chiefest  warld's  treasure ! 


WANDERING    WILLIE. 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie, 
Here  awa,  there  awa,  haud  awa  hame ; 

Come  to  my  bosom,  my  ae  only  dearie. 

And  tell  me  thou  bring'st  me  my  Willie  the  same. 


WHISTLE,  AND   I'LL    COME    TO    YOU,  MY  LAD.     163 

Loud  tho'  the  winter  blew  cauld  at  our  parting,  5 

'Twas  na  the  blast  brought  the  tear  in  my  ee ; 

Welcome  now  simmer  and  welcome  my  Willie, 
The  simmer  to  nature,  my  Willie  to  me. 

Rest,  ye  wild  storms,  in  the  cave  of  your  slumbers. 

How  your  dread  howling  a  lover  alarms  !  10 

Wauken,  ye  breezes,  row  gently,  ye  billows. 

And  waft  my  dear  laddie  ance  mair  to  my  arms. 
But  O,  if  he  's  faithless,  and  minds  na  his  Nannie, 

Flow  still  between  us,  thou  wide-roaring  main ! 
May  I  never  see  it,  may  I  never  trow  it,  15 

But,  dying,  believe  that  my  Willie  's  my  ain  ! 


WHISTLE,   AND    I'LL  COME   TO  YOU,    MY  LAD. 

Chorus.  —  O  whistle,  an'  I  '11  come  to  you,  my  lad  ! 
O  whistle,  an'  I  '11  come  to  you,  my  lad ! 
Tho'  father  an'  mither  an'  a'  should  gae  mad, 
O  whistle,  an'  I  '11  come  to  you,  my  lad ! 

But  warily  tent,  when  ye  come  to  court  me,  5 

And  come  na  unless  the  back-yett  be  a-jee ; 
Syne  up  the  back-style,  and  let  naebody  see, 
And  come  as  ye  were  na  comin  to  me. 

At  kirk,  or  at  market,  whene'er  ye  meet  me. 
Gang  by  me  as  tho'  that  ye  car'd  na  a  flie  :  10 

But  steal  me  a  blink  o'  your  bonie  black  ee, 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  lookin  at  me. 

Ay  vow  and  protest  that  ye  care  na  for  me, 
And  whiles  ye  may  lightly  my  beauty  a  wee  ; 
But  court  na  anither,  tho'  jokin  ye  be,  iS 

For  fear  that  she  wyle  your  fancy  frae  me. 


164  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

SCOTS    WHA   HAE. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed. 

Or  to  victory ! 
Now 's  the  day,  and  now 's  the  hour  ;  5 

See  the  front  o'  battle  lour  ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power  — 

Chains  and  slavery ! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 

Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ?  lo 

Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 

Let  him  turn  and  flee  ! 
Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freeman  stand,  or  Freeman  fa',  15 

Let  him  follow  me  ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall  be  free  !  20 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty  's  in  every  blow !  — 

Let  us  do,  or  die  ! 


THE  LOVELY  LASS  OF  INVERNESS. 

The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness, 

Nae  joy  nor  pleasure  can  she  see ; 
For  e'en  and  morn  she  cries,  "  alas  !  " 


CA'    THE    YOWES    TO    THE   KNOWES.  165 

And  aye  the  saut  tear  blin's  her  ee : 
"  Drumossie  moor,  Drumossie  day,  5 

A  waefu'  day  it  was  to  me  ; 
For  there  I  lost  my  father  dear, 

My  father  dear,  and  brethren  three. 

"  Their  winding-sheet  the  bluidy  clay. 

Their  graves  are  growing  green  to  see;  10 

And  by  them  lies  the  dearest  lad 

That  ever  blest  a  woman's  ee ! 
Now  wae  to  thee,  thou  cruel  lord, 

A  bluidy  man  I  trow  thou  be ; 
For  monie  a  heart  thou  hast  made  sair,  15 

That  ne'er  did  wrang  to  thine  or  thee." 


CA'   THE   YOWES    TO   THE    KNOWES. 

Chorus.  —  Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 

Ca'  them  where  the  heather  grows, 
Ca'  them  where  the  burnie  rows. 
My  bonie  dearie. 

Hark  !  the  mavis'  evening  sang  5 

Sounding  Cluden's  woods  amang. 
Then  a-fauldin  let  us  gang. 
My  bonie  dearie. 

We  '11  gae  down  by  Cluden  side, 
Thro'  the  hazels  spreading  wide,  10 

O'er  the  waves  that  sweetly  glide 
To  the  moon  sae  clearly. 

Yonder  Cluden's  silent  towers, 
Where  at  moonshine  midnight  hours. 


166  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

O'er  the  dewy-bending  flowers,  15 

Fairies  dance  sae  cheery. 

Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear  ; 
Thou  'rt  to  love  and  Heaven  sae  dear, 
Nocht  of  ill  may  come  thee  near, 

My  bonie  dearie.  20 

Fair  and  lovely  as  thou  art, 
Thou  hast  stown  my  very  heart ; 
I  can  die  —  but  canna  part, 
My  bonie  dearie. 


THE    WINTER   OF    LIFE. 

But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green, 

The  woods  rejoiced  the  day ; 
Thro'  gentle  showers  the  laughing  flowers, 

In  double  pride  were  gay ; 
But  now  our  joys  are  fled  S 

On  winter  blasts  awa  ; 
Yet  maiden  May,  in  rich  array. 

Again  shall  bring  them  a'. 

But  my  white  pow  —  nae  kindly  thowe 

Shall  melt  the  snaws  of  age ;  10 

My  trunk  of  eild,  but  buss  or  beild. 

Sinks  in  Time's  wintry  rage. 
Oh,  age  has  weary  days, 

An'  nights  o'  sleepless  pain  ! 
Thou  golden  time  o'  youthfu'  prime,  15 

Why  comes  thou  not  again .'' 


MY  NANIE'S  AWA.  167 

CONTENTED    WI'   LITTLE. 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair, 
Whene'er  I  forgather  wi'  Sorrow  and  Care, 
I  gie  them  a  skelp  as  they  're  creepin  alang, 
Wi'  a  cog  o'  gude  swats  and  an  auld  Scottish  sang. 

I  whyles  claw  the  elbow  o'  troublesome  Thought ;  5 

But  man  is  a  soger,  and  life  is  a  faught : 

My  mirth  and  gude  humour  are  coin  in  my  pouch. 

And  my  freedom's  my  lairdship  nae  monarch  dare  touch. 

A  towmond  o'  trouble,  should  that  be  my  fa',  — 

A  night  o'  gude  fellowship  sowthers  it  a';  lo 

When  at  the  blythe  end  of  our  journey  at  last, 

Wha  the  deil  ever  thinks  o'  the  road  he  has  past  ? 

Blind  Chance,  let  her  snapper  and  stoyte  on  her  way, 
Be't  to  me,  be't  frae  me,  e'en  let  the  jad  gae  : 
Come  ease  or  come  travail,  come  pleasure  or  pain,  15 

My  warst  word  is  —  "  Welcome,  and  welcome  again  ! " 


MY   NANIE'S   AWA. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  Nature  arrays, 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes, 
While  birds  warble  welcomes  in  ilka  green  shaw ; 
But  to  me  it's  delightless  —  my  Nanie's  awa. 

The  snaw-drop  and  primrose  our  woodlands  adorn, 
And  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the  morn  : 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blaw. 
They  mind  me  o'  Nanie  —  and  Nanie's  awa. 


168  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Thou  laverock  that  springs  frae  the  dews  o'  the  lawn, 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  gray-breaking  dawn,        lo 
And  thou,  mellow  mavis,  that  hails  the  night-fa'. 
Give  over  for  pity  —  my  Nanie  's  awa. 

Come  autumn  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  and  gray, 

And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay  ; 

The  dark,  dreary  winter,  and  wild-driving  snaw  15 

Alane  can  delight  me  —  now  Nanie 's  awa. 


A  MAN'S   A   MAN    FOR   A'  THAT. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty. 

That  hings  his  head,  an'  a'  that  ? 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by. 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that,  5 

Our  toils  obscure,  an'  a'  that ; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp ; 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hodden-gray,  an'  a'  that ;  10 

Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine, 
A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 

Their  tinsel  show,  an'  a'  that ; 
The  honest  man,  tho'  e'er  sae  poor,  15 

Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  an'  stares,  an'  a'  that ; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word. 

He 's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that :  20 


THE   LASS   OF  ECCLEFECHAN.  169 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

His  riband,  star,  an'  a'  that, 
The  man  o'  independent  mind, 

He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight,  25 

A  marquis,  duke,  an'  a'  that ; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 
Guid  faith  he  mauna  fa'  that ! 
.    For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

Their  dignities,  an'  a'  that,  3° 

The  pith  o'  sense,  an'  pride  o'  worth. 
Are  higher  rank  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may. 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that. 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth,  35 

May  bear  the  gree,  an'  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a^  that. 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that. 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that.  4° 


THE   LASS    OF   ECCLEFECHAN. 

"Gat  ye  me,  O  gat  ye  me, 

O  gat  ye  me  wi'  naething  ? 
Rock  and  reel,  and  spinnin'  wheel, 

A  mickle  quarter  basin. 
Bye  attour,  my  gutcher  has 

A  heigh  house  and  a  laigh  ane, 
A'  forbye  my  bonie  sel, 

The  toss  of  Ecclefechan." 


170  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

"O  baud  your  tongue  now,  luckie  Laing, 

0  haud  your  tongue  and  jauner;  lo 
I  held  the  gate  till  you  I  met, 

Syne  I  began  to  wander : 
I  tint  my  whistle  and  my  sang, 

1  tint  my  peace  and  pleasure ; 

But  your  green  graff,  now,  luckie  Laing,  15 

Wad  airt  me  to  my  treasure." 


LAST   MAY   A    BRAW    WOOER. 

Last  May  a  braw  wooer  cam  down  the  lang  glen, 
And  sair  wi'  his  love  he  did  deave  me  ; 

I  said  there  was  naething  I  hated  like  men : 
The  deuce  gae  wi  'm  to  believe  me,  believe  me, 
The  deuce  gae  wi  'm  to  believe  me.  S 

He  spak  o'  the  darts  in  my  bonie  black  een, 

And  vow'd  for  my  love  he  was  diein  ; 
I  said  he  might  die  when  he  liked  for  Jean : 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  liein,  for  liein. 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  liein  !  10 

A  weel-stocked  mailen,  himsel  for  the  laird. 
And  marriage  aff-hand,  were  his  proffers  : 

I  never  loot  on  that  I  ken'd  it,  or  cared, 

But  thought  I  might  hae  waur  offers,  waur  offers, 

But  thought  I  might  hae  waur  offers.  15 

But  what  wad  ye  think  ?  in  a  fortnight  or  less, 
(The  deil  tak  his  taste  to  gae  near  her ! ) 

He  up  the  lang  loan  to  my  black  cousin  Bess, 

Guess  ye  how,  the  jad !   I  could  bear  her,  could  bear  her, 
Guess  ye  how,  the  jad !  I  could  bear  her.  20 


i 


EPISTLE    TO    COLONEL   DE   PEYSTER.  171 

But  a'  the  niest  week  as  I  fretted  wi'  care, 
I  gaed  to  the  tryste  o'  Dalgarnock, 

And  wha  but  my  fine  fickle  lover  was  there. 
I  glowr'd  as  I  'd  seen  a  warlock,  a  warlock, 
I  glowr'd  as  I  'd  seen  a  warlock.  25 

But  owre  my  left  shouther  I  gae  him  a  blink, 
Lest  neibors  might  say  I  was  saucy ; 

My  wooer  he  caper'd  as  he  'd  been  in  drink, 
And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie,  dear  lassie, 
And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie.  3° 

I  spier'd  for  my  cousin  fu'  couthy  and  sweet, 
Gin  she  had  recover'd  her  hearin, 

And  how  her  new  shoon  fit  her  auld  shachl't  feet  — 
But,  heavens !  how  he  fell  a  swearin,  a  swearin. 
But,  heavens  !  how  he  fell  a  swearin.  35 

He  begged,  for  gudesake,  I  wad  be  his  wife. 
Or  else  I  wad  kill  him  wi'  sorrow  : 

So  e'en  to  preserve  the  poor  body  in  life, 

1  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow,  to-morrow, 

I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow.  40 


EPISTLE   TO  COLONEL   DE    PEYSTER. 

Mv  honour'd  Colonel,  deep  I  feel 
Your  interest  in  the  Poet's  weal ; 
Ah !  now  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  speel 

The  steep  Parnassus, 
Surrounded  thus  by  bolus  pill. 

And  potion  glasses. 


172  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

O  what  a  canty  warld  were  it, 

Would  pain  and  care  and  sickness  spare  it; 

And  fortune  favour  worth  and  merit, 

As  they  deserve :  lo 

And  ay  a  rowth,  roast  beef  and  claret ; 

Syne  wha  wad  starve? 

Dame  Life,  tho'. fiction  out  may  trick  her, 
And  in  paste  gems  and  fripp'ry  deck  her, 
O!  fiick'ring,  feeble,  and  unsicker  15 

I  've  found  her  still, 
Aye  wav'ring  like  the  willow-wicker, 

'Tween  good  and  ill. 

Then  that  curst  carmagnole,  auld  Satan, 
Watches,  like  baudrons  by  a  ratton,  20 

Our  sinfu'  saul  to  get  a  claut  on 

Wi'  felon  ire; 
Syne,  whip !  his  tail  ye  '11  ne'er  cast  saut  on. 

He  's  aff  like  fire. 

Ah  Nick  !  ah  Nick!  it  isna  fair,  25 

First  shewing  us  the  tempting  ware, 
Bright  wine  and  bonie  lasses  rare. 

To  put  us  daft; 
Syne  weave,  unseen,  thy  spider  snare 

O'  hell's  damn'd  waft.  30 

Poor  man,  the  flie,  aft  bizzes  by. 

An'  aft,  as  chance  he  comes  thee  nigh. 

Thy  damn'd  auld  elbow  yeuks  wi'  joy. 

And  hellish  pleasure,  — 
Already  in  thy  fancy's  eye,  35 

Thy  sicker  treasure. 


O,   WERT   THOU  IN   THE    CAULD  BLAST.  173 

Soon,  heels-o'er-gowdie !  in  he  gangs, 
And  like  a  sheep-head  on  a  tangs, 
Thy  girnin  laugh  enjoys  his  pangs 

And  murd'ring  wrestle,  4° 

As,  dangling  in  the  wind,  he  hangs 

A  gibbet's  tassel. 

But  lest  you  think  I  am  uncivil, 

To  plague  you  with  this  draunting  drivel. 

Abjuring  a'  intentions  evil,  45 

I  quat  my  pen: 
The  Lord  preserve  us  frae  the  Devil ! 

Amen!  amen! 


O,   WERT   THOU    IN   THE   CAULD    BLAST. 

O,  WERT  thou  in  the  cauld  blast. 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea. 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

1  'd  shelter  thee,  I  'd  shelter  thee. 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms  S 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw. 
Thy  beild  should  be  my  bosom. 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and  bare,  lo 

The  desert  were  a  paradise, 
*   If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there. 
Or  were  I  monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown  ^5 

Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen. 


174  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


FAIREST   MAID    ON   DEVON   BANKS. 

Chorus. —  Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks, 

Crystal  Devon,  winding  Devon, 
Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside, 

And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do? 

Full  well  thou  know'st  I  love  thee  dear,  5 

Couldst  thou  to  malice  lend  an  ear  ? 
O,  did  not  Love  exclaim,  "  Forbear, 
Nor  use  a  faithful  lover  so  "  t 

Then  come,  thou  fairest  of  the  fair. 

Those  wonted  smiles,  O,  let  me  share ;  10 

And  by  thy  beauteous  self  I  swear. 

No  love  but  thine  my  heart  shall  know. 


NOTES. 


BuRNs's  earliest  poetical  efforts  were  love  songs.  They  represent 
actual  passages  of  his  life,  and  they  were  generally  composed  to  the 
humming  of  a  melody.  Hence,  from  the  first  his  work  has  that  air  of 
reality  and  truth  which  is  its  most  distinctive  characteristic,  and  his 
songs,  in  particular,  possess  that  'singing'  quality  which  marks  them 
above  those  of  every  other  song  writer. 


O   TIBBIE,   I    HAE   SEEN   THE   DAY   (1776). 

Air,  '  Invercaulcfs  Reel.'' 

'This  song  I  composed  about  the  age  of  seventeen.' — B.  The  record 
of  Burns's  loves  is  more  diversified  than  even  Goethe's.  '  Sometimes,' 
he  says,  '  I  was  received  with  favor,  and  sometimes  mortified  with  a 
repulse.'  Tibbie  was  one  of  those  who  mortified  him,  and  the  touch 
of  temper  is  just  enough  to  add  sprightliness.  Combined  with  this 
there  is  a  note  of  jealousy  against  riches  and  social  superiority  which 
later  becomes  a  familiar  strain.  The  lively  measure  of  the  reel  is  well 
marked. 

1  1.     Tibbie:   Scotch  for  Isabella. 

1  2.     wad  na  been :  for  the  idiom,  see  Gram.  Introd. 

1  4.  care  na  by  :  '  care  not  for  that '  ;  cf.  obs.  Eng.  use  of  '  let  by,' 
e.g.,  '  Clothed  as  a  loller,  and  lytel  y-lete  by,'  i.e.,  '  thought  of '  (Piers 
Plowman). 

1  6.     like  stoure :  '  like  the  wind  ' ;  stottre  =  dry  dust. 

2  22.     brier:  pron. 'breer.' 

2  25.  tak  my  advice  :  '  take  my  word  for  it ' ;  cf.  obs.  Eng.  use  of 
advice  =  opinion. 

227.  spier  your  price:  'make  a  bid  foi  you,' 'ask  your  hand.'  The 
phrase,  idiomatic  for  '  signify  a  desire  to  have,'  is  commonly  used  with 
a  negative,  =  '  have  no  use  for.' 


176  NOTES. 


MARY    MORISON    (1781). 

This  is  the  fifteenth  number  in  Mr.  Scott  Douglas's  edition,  and 
all  before  it  are  love  songs.  The  subject  was  a  servant  girl  whom 
Burns  seriously  desired  to  marry,  to  whom  he  wrote  the  earliest  of  his 
preserved  letters,  and  whose  charms  he  had  already  sung,  —  Ellison 
Begbie,  Bonie  Peggie  Alison,  the  Lass  on  Cessnock  Banks.  Handsome 
Nell  (see  Ep.  Mrs.  6".),  Montgomerie's  Peggie,  Annie  of  the  Barley  Riggs, 
and  others  successively  touched  the  tinder  of  his  heart ;  but  to  Ellison 
Begbie  he  proposed  marriage.  She  refused  his  offer— Burns  himself 
says  'jilted'  him  —  but  did  not  break  his  heart.  The  elasticity  of  his 
temper  was  no  less  remarkable  than  the  variety  of  his  moods  and  the 
violence  of  their  revulsions. 

In  sending  the  song  to  Thomson  (March  20,  1793)  he  apologized  for 
its  juvenility  and  said  he  '  did  not  think  it  remarkable  for  either  its 
merits  or  demerits.'  The  poet  was  an  erratic  judge  of  his  own  work. 
This  lyric  (not  strictly  to  be  called  juvenile,  as  he  had  reached  the 
capable  age  of  twenty-two)  contains  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  suggestive 
idealization  in  literature,  and  it  shows  also  that  the  poet  had  reached 
his  full,  rich  note  of  pure  song. 

2  1.     As  originally  printed  the  song  began  at  '  Yestreen.' 

2  2.     stoure :  see  Vocab. ;  it  is  not  'dust '  here. 

2  9.  See  introd.  note  to  this  song.  The  'lighted  ha"  was  a  barn 
with  a  clay  floor,  rough  stone  walls,  and  exposed  rafters  covered  with 
dirt  and  cobwebs,  lighted  with  a  few  guttering  tallow  dips  stuck  in  bits 
of  wood ;  planks  raised  on  logs  against  the  walls  offered  seats ;  and  the 
'  trembling  string '  —  worthy  of  a  royal  minstrel  in  a  palace  —  was  that 
of  the  rustic  amateur  fiddler  in  the  corner. 

2  13.     braw  :  here  =  ' finely  dressed.' 

3  23.  The  same  sentiment  occurs  in  the  first  of  his  letters  to  Ellison 
Begbie. 


A    PRAYER    (1781). 

The  date  is  Mr.  Scott  Douglas's.  The  poem  appears  in  his  Comm.  PI. 
Bk.  under  August,  1784,  with  an  entry  that  points  back  two  or  three 
years. 


NOTES.  177 


THE   DEATH    AND    DYING   WORDS   OF   POOR   MAILIE 

(1782,  Spring). 

The  incident  was  genuine.  One  day,  as  Burns  and  his  brother  were 
going  out  with  their  teams  at  noon,  Hugh  Wilson,  a  neighbor  herdboy, 
'  an  odd,  glowrin,  gapin  callan,  about  three-fourths  wise,'  came  running 
to  tell  them  what  had  happened  to  Mailie.  The  ewe  was  soon  released, 
but  the  ludicrous  side  of  Hughoc's  alarm  and  appearance  touched  the 
poet's  fancy,  and  at  the  plow  during  the  afternoon  he  composed  this 
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral.  The  humor,  though  slighter,  has 
already  something  of  the  rich  ethical  flavor  of  The  Twa  Dogs,  and  here 
the  sympathetic  self -identification  with  the  brute  in  her  point  of  view  is 
equally  tender  and  more  playful.  Burns  had  in  mind  Hamilton  of  Gil- 
bertfield's  Dying  Words  of  Bonny  Heck,  a  Famous  Greyhound. 

4  2.  Was :  Burns  originally  wrote  tvere.  Only  Mailie  was  on  the 
tether,  but  the  form  'was'  would  be  legitimate  Scots  grammar  in  either 
case;  cf.  the  ballad  There  Was  Three  Kings  into  the  East. 

4  6.  Hughoc :  the  dimin.  -oc  (cf.  Eng.  -ock  in  hillock)  is  an  alternative 
for  -ie  ;  e.g.,  lassoc,  lassie ;  Davoc,  Davie.  Sometimes  the  two  are  united, 
as  in  Dr.  Geddes's  song,  — 

'  There  was  a  wee  bit  wifikie  was  coniin  frae  the  fair 
Had  gotten  a  bit  drappikie  that  bred  her  muckle  care.' 

4  7-1].  Gilbert  Burns  tells  us  his  brother  'was  much  tickled  with 
Hughoc's  appearance  and  postures  ' ;  Mailie  sustains  the  humor  in  1.  13. 

4  17.  keep :  Burns  already  had  a  poet's  contempt  for  '  gear- 
gathering,'  which  Mailie  quite  understands. 

5  28,  32.     them,  themsel :  see  Gram.  Introd. 

5  38.     stocks  0'  kail :  heads  of  cabbage,  or  '  cabbage-stocks.' 
5  4,5.     beast :  i.e.,  full-grown. 

5  49-56.  The  advice  is  that  of  a  '  douce  '  Scottish  mother  to  her  chil- 
dren as  to  the  company  they  should  keep. 

6  51.     silly:  the  epithet  is  Homeric  applied  to  sheep. 
6  64.     thou'se:  see  Gram.  Introd. 

6  64.  blether  :  the  gift  was  one  highly  prized  by  the  country  urchin  ; 
hence  the  droll  dignity  of  the  bequest. 


POOR   MAILIE'S    ELEGY. 

As  this  poem  does  not  occur  in  the  Comm.  PI.  Bk.  immediately  after 
the  preceding,  the  date  is  probalily  somewhat  later.     The  verse  form  is 


178  NOTES. 

that  introduced  by  Robert  Sempill  in  his  Life  and  Death  of  Hahbie 
Simpson,  the  Piper  of  Kilbarchan,  about  the  middle  of  the  17th  century. 
It  was  adopted  by  Ramsay  and  Fergusson,  and  by  them  passed  on  to 
Burns. 

The  poet  may  have  drawn  suggestions  from  The  Piper  of  Kilbarchan, 
but  he  certainly  had  in  mind  The  Ewie  wV  the  Crookit  Horn,  by  the 
Rev.  John  Skinner.  In  this  year,  1782,  Skinner  was  alive  and  sixty-one 
years  of  age ;  Burns  afterwards  made  his  acquaintance  by  letter,  but 
they  never  met. 

6  6.  Mailie  's  dead :  Burns  uses  the  same  stanza  for  elegiac  pur- 
poses, both  serious  and  comic,  in  the  Elegy  on  Captaitt  Henderson  and 
Tarn  Samson  V  Dead ;  in  the  latter  the  refrain  is  employed  as  here. 

7  21.  I  '11  say  't :  formula  of  solemn  affirmation.  Cf.  Mailie's  dying 
words,  11.  35-38. 

7  29.     pearls  :  the  roll  of  the  r  makes  a  dissyllable. 

7  34.  Frae  yont  the  Tweed  :  English  wool  had  an  historic  renown 
from  Plantagenet  times,  when  the  exportation  of  sheep  was  by  law  pro- 
hibited. 

7  37.  Wae  worth  :  sorrow  befall.  Wae  is  a  noun  ;  man  is  a  dative  ; 
for  worth,  see  Vocab.     Cf.  Scott's 

'  Woe  worth  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day.' 

Lady  0/ the  Lake,  I.  9. 

8  43.  0  a'  ye  Bards  :  there  are  several  echoes  of  Skinner's  poem 
throughout,  but  the  resemblance  is  clear  in  the  last  stanza  of  both, — 

'  But  thus,  poor  thing,  to  lose  her  Ufe 
Aneath  a  bleedy  villain's  knife  ! 
I  'm  really  fley  't  that  our  guidwife 

Will  never  win  aboon  't  ava :  , 

O  a'  ye  bards  benorth  Kinghorn, 
Call  your  muses  up  an'  mourn 
Our  ewie  wi'  the  crookit  horn 

Stown  frae  's  an'  fell 't  an'  a'.' 

It  maybe  noted  that  '  bonie  Doon  '  and  Ayr  had  as  yet  no  bards.  As 
late  as  1785  Burns  had  still  to  lament  the  fact.     See  Ep.  W.  S.,  47. 


MY   NANIE,    O    (1782). 
This,  too.  Burns  ingenuously  writes  in  his  Comm.  PI.  Bk.,  was  at  the 
time  real.     The  virginal  sweetness  of  the  emotion  is  likewise  to  be  ob- 
served. 


NOTES.  179 

8  1.  Lugar :  only  as  late  as  1792,  Oct.  26,  Burns  suggested  this 
name,  or  Girvan,  as  a  substitute  for  the  cacophonous  actual  name  of 
the  stream,  Stinchar. 

8  4.  Nanie :  Scotch  for  Agnes.  She  has  been  identified  as  Agnes 
Fleming,  but  she  need  not  have  been  called  Nanie  at  all ;  cf.  Peggie 
Alison. 

8  7.  plaid  :  the  highland  substitute  for  overcoat.  It  is  wound  about 
the  chest  and  shoulders,  and  its  length,  about  four  yards,  makes  it  a 
convenient  wrap  for  two.  Cf.  Hector  Macneill's  song,  Cotne  Jtnder  my 
Plaidie. 

8  8.     hill :  the  Carrick  hills,  west  of  Lochlea. 

9  21.  These  circumstances  are  imaginary:  Burns  never  worked 
under  any  master  except  his  father. 


GREEN   GROW   THE    RASHES    (17S3,   Summer). 

This  song  is  created  out  of  an  old  snatch  of  the  same  name.  It  is 
the  earliest  of  those  rifacimenti  whose  importance  is  twofold :  they 
show  how  keen  and  true  was  the  singer's  instinct  in  Burns,  and  they 
reveal  the  extent  of  the  deljt  under  which  he  has  laid  the  literature  of 
song.     (See  Gen.  Introd.) 

For  all  its  lightness  and  brtisqiterie,  the  song  embodies  the  poet's 
serious  conviction,  as  his  letters  repeatedly  show.  In  his  Conun.  PL  Bk. 
(August,  1784)  the  verses  are  given  as  'the  genuine  language  of  my 
heart ';  and.  writing  of  this  period  to  Dr.  Moore  (Aug.  2,  1787),  he  says: 
^Vive  Pamour  et  vive  la  bagatelle  were  my  sole  principles  of  action.' 

This  was  after  his  sojourn  in  Irvine,  where  he  got  that  copy  of  Fer- 
gusson's  poems  which  made  him  'string  his  lyre  with  emulating  vigor.' 

10  19,  20.  Burns,  though  not  bred  a  Puritan,  was  remarkably  well 
read  in  the  Bible,  and  took  delight  in  making  scriptural  allusions ;  see 
notes  to  C.  S.  N.,  To  the  £>.,  If.  F.,  etc. 

10  21-24.  This  stanza  was  added  later.  The  conceit  is  old.  Steele 
uses  it  in  his  Christian  Hero  (1701) :  'He  (Adam)  saw  a  creature  who 
had,  as  it  were,  heaven's  second  thought  in  her  formation.'  It  occurs 
earlier,  in  CupicVs  Whirligig,  a  comedy  published  in  1607:  'Since  we 
were  made  before  you  [women],  should  we  not  admire  you  as  the  last 
and  therefore  perfect  work  of  nature .'  Man  was  made  when  Nature 
was  but  an  apprentice,  but  woman  when  she  was  a  skilful  mistress  of 
her  art.'     This  passage  was  copied  into  a  book  not  scarce  in  Burns's 


180  NOTES. 

day,  —  The  British  Muse,  a    Collection   of  Thoughts,  by   Thomas  Hey- 
wood,  Gent.,  4  vols.,  London,  1738. 

During  1783  came  the  collapse  of  his  father's  affairs  and  another  dis- 
tressing circumstance  in  the  poet's  life.  His  father  died  in  February, 
1784,  'just  saved  from  a  jail  by  phthisical  consumption.'  Soon  after. 
Burns  wrote  Miin  was  Made  to  AIou7-n,  in  which  he  records  the  indig- 
nant protest  of  poverty  against  wealth  and  social  injustice,  for  with  him 
these  two  are  nearly  synonymous.  At  the  same  time  he  took  up  the 
subject  from  a  humorous  point  of  view  in  his  letter  to  Davie,  a  '  Brother- 
poet,  Lover,  Ploughman,  and  Fiddler.' 


EPISTLE   TO    DAVIE  (1784;   Completed  January,  1785). 

Gilbert  Burns  states  that  in  the  summer  of  1784,  while  he  and  his 
brother  were  weeding  in  the  '  kailyard,'  Robert  recited  the  greater  part 
of  this  epistle ;  and  he  believes  that  the  idea  of  Robert's  becoming  an 
author  was  started  on  that  occasion.  He  was  already  inspired  by  Fer- 
gusson,  and  was  looking  to  poetry  as  a  serious  vocation,  but  he  had  not 
yet  thought  of  publishing. 

Mail  was  Made  to  Alourn  and  this  poem  are  to  each  other  as  obverse 
and  reverse ;  the  former  serious  and  English,  the  latter  humorous  and 
Scotch ;  in  the  former  '  man's  inhumanity  to  man  makes  countless 
thousands  mourn,'  and  the  spirit  of  independence  frets  against  social 
fetters ;  in  the  latter  the  poet,  though  at  times  he  cannot  help  being 
sour,  finds  consolation  at  every  turn,  even  in  the  prospect  of  a  release 
offered  in  beggardom. 

Davie  Sillar,  to  whom  the  epistle  is  addressed,  has  no  claim  on  pos- 
terity beyond  this  recognition  of  him,  though  he,  too,  published  a 
volume  of  poems  at  Kilmarnock. 

The  stanza,  which,  in  spite  of  its  awkward  form.  Burns  appears  to  have 
mastered  at  the  first  effort,  is  supposed  to  have  been  invented  by  Alex- 
ander Montgomerie  in  The  Banks  of  Helicon,  and  is  that  employed  by 
Allan  Ramsay  in  The  Vision. 

10  1.     winds,  etc. :  %o  M.  M.  M.  begins, — 

'  When  chill  November's  surly  blast.' 

10  6.  westlin  jingle  :  the  Ayrshire  dialect  has  peculiarities,  but  more 
of  accent  than  vocabulary.     Some  are  noted  in  the  Vocab. 


NOTES.  181 

10  9.     gift :  what  is  given  to  them.    For  the  sentiment,  cf.  M.  M.  M., — 

'  Where  hundreds  labour  to  support 
A  haughty  lordhng's  pride.' 

11  15.     a  body's:  this  is  the  regular  Scotch  indefinite,  ^ '  one  ' ;  e.g., 

'  Gin  a  body  meet  a  body.' 

11  25.  Burns  notes  this  line  as  borrowed  from  Ramsay.  It  is  from 
the  Response  of  the  Oracle  to  the  Foetus  IVJsk, — 

'  Mair  speir  na  and  flir  na, 
But  set  thy  mind  at  rest.' 

11  28.  to  beg  :  see  Scott's  introd.  to  The  A/itiqicary,  and  the  charac- 
ter of  Edie  Ochiltree ;  Scott  believed  that  Burns  may  have  looked  for- 
ward to  the  possibility  of  becoming  a  'bluegown,'  and  Burns,  in  a  letter 
to  Charles  Sharpe  (April  22,  1791),  assumes  that  character  over  the 
signature  '  Johnny  Faa.' 

11  29.  kilns:  for  making  malt,  in  days  when  people  brewed  their 
own  ale. 

11  29  ff.  Vagabondage  and  Bohemianism  had  a  charm  for  Burns, 
as  they  had  for  Shakspere;  the  genius  that  conjured  up  the  scenes  in 
Eastcheap  had  his  compeer  in  the  creator  of  the  revelry  that '  sheuk  the 
kebars  '  at  Poosie  Nansie's. 

11  39-42.     Cf.  the  poet's  second  song  in  The  folly  Beggars, — 

'  Life  is  all  a  variorum, 

We  regard  not  how  it  goes ; 
Let  them  cant  about  decorum 
Who  have  characters  to  lose.' 

12  43-56.  The  spirit  of  this  beautiful  stanza  is  strikingly  reproduced 
by  Jean  Richepin  in  the  idyllic  portion  of  his  Cha)ison  des  Gtieux.  The 
process  described  in  11.  54-56  is  that  followed  by  Burns  in  the  composi- 
tion of  his  songs.  See  his  letter  to  Thomson,  September,  1793;  and 
cf.  Gen.  Introd.,  p.  xlvi.  ff. 

12  57-59.     Cf.  Gala  Water,  13,  14,  p.  162. 

12  60.     making  muckle,  mair  :  '  making  much  grow  to  be  more.' 

12  71.     With  this  stanza  cf.  The  T.  D.,  71-100,  p.  73. 

13  90.     An 's  :  'and  am.'     See  Gram.  Introd. 

13  92.  '  No  one  has  moralised  better  on  the  "  uses  of  adversity  "  than 
Burns;  few  so  finely  as  when  he  says  misfortunes  '*  let  us  ken  oursel." ' 
—  Professor  Nichol,  Introd.  to  Mr.  Scott  Douglas's  ed.,  vol.  i. 

13   102.     I :  a  mere  sacrifice  to  rhvme;  not  a  Scotch  idiom. 


182  NOTES. 

14  108.  Jean:  Jean  Armour,  afterwards  his  wife.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  builder  in  the  neighboring  town  of  Mauchline,  and  socially 
rather  above  the  poet.  He  first  met  her  in  April  or  May  of  this  year, 
and  passion  sprang  full-grown  between  them.  The  impetuosity  of  the 
poet's  emotions  renders  it  unnecessary  to  adopt  any  theory  involving  a 
later  date  for  these  ardent  references  to  Jean.  The  fact  stands  that 
when  Burns  saw  Jean  he  had  seen  his  fate. 

14  130.     world's :  dissyll.  on  account  of  rolled  r. 

14  138.  tenebrific  :  one  of  his  few  bombastic  words ;  cf.  terraefilial, 
f rater-feeling,  and  a  few  more. 

15  145.    As  :  'as  if.' 

15  147.  Pegasus  has  for  Burns  all  the  reality  of  Jenny  Geddes;  cf. 
Ep.  to  Willie  Chalmers,  i-S,  • — ■ 

'  Wi  braw  new  branks  an'  muckle  pride, 
An'  eke  a  braw  new  brechan, 
My  Pegasus  I  'm  got  astride 
An'  up  Parnassus  pechin,'  etc. 


RANTIN   ROVIN    ROBIN   (probably  early  in  1785). 

Burns  was  now  fired  with  the  ambition  to  become  a  poet,  and  hence- 
forth poetry  was  his  only  successful  undertaking. 

This  song  was  composed  to  the  air  'Dainty  Davie,''  and  there  is  ex- 
tant in  Burns's  handwriting  the  following  opening: 

'  There  was  a  birkie  born  in  Kyle, 
But  whatna  day  o'  whatna  style, 
I  doubt  it 's  hardly  worth  my  while 
To  be  sae  nice  wi'  Davie. 
Leeze  me  on  thy  curly  pow, 

Bonie  Davie,  dainty  Davie ; 
Leeze  me  on  thy  curly  pow, 
Thou  's  aye  my  dainty  Davie.' 

IS  1.  Kyle:  the  districts  of  Ayrshire  were  Cunningham,  north  of 
the  Irvine  ;  Kyle,  between  the  Irvine  and  the  Doon  ;  Carrick,  south  of 
the  Doon.     From  Kyle  he  names  his  muse  Coila. 

15  2.  style:  for  some  time  after  the  change  in  the  calendar  (1751) 
dates  were  reckoned  according  to  both  '  old  style '  and  '  new  style.' 

15  6.  rantin,  rovin :  almost  the  same  combination  occurs  in  The 
Twa  Dogs,  24,  p.  72;  the  third  Ep.  to  Lapraik  is  signed  Rab  the  Ranter; 
the  words  imply  a  jovial  and  Bohemian  disposition. 


NOTES.  183 

15  9.     Our  monarch's  .  .  .  begun:  George  II;  Jan.  25,  1759. 

16  13.  gossip  :  sponsor  in  baptism.  Tradition  has  it  that  an  itin- 
erant 'spaewife  '  uttered  prophecies  on  the  child's  future,  and  there  may 
have  been  palmistry,  such  practice  being  common. 

16  20.  The  words  were  prophetic,  but  Burns  was  by  no  means  blown 
up  with  anticipated  fame.  His  self-judgment  was  remarkably  keen,  and 
at  all  times  he  rather  underestimated  than  overestimated  his  powers. 

16  26.  The  following  stanza  is  found  with  variations  in  some  edi- 
tions.    This  version  is  taken  from  the  second  Coi7i7n.  PL  Bk. 

'  Guid  faith,'  quo'  scho, '  I  doubt  you,  Stir, 
Ye  gar  the  lasses  lie  aspar ; 
But  twenty  fauts  ye  may  hae  waur  — 
So  blessins  on  thee,  Robin ! ' 


TO   THE   DEIL. 

Gilbert  Burns  states  that  Robert  recited  this  poem  to  him  during  the 
winter  after  the  £J>.  to  Davie.  He  heard  the  latter  during  the  summer 
of  1784,  and  therefore  the  present  poem  is  consigned  to  the  winter  of 
1784-5.     He  may  have  altered  and  improved  it  later. 

Originating  in  a  humorous  freak  as  he  ran  over  '  the  many  ludicrous 
accounts  we  have  of  this  august  personage,'  this  poem,  so  realistic  as  to 
make  us  believe  in  this  devil,  and  so  familiarly  tender  as  to  make  us 
love  him,  with  its  variety  of  contrasts,  its  daring  combination  of  banter 
and  awe,  familiarity  and  respect,  indignation  and  compassion,  with  its 
rich  play  of  fancy  and  observation  woven  into  a  warp  of  humanity  and 
supernaturalism,  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  compositions  in  litera- 
ture. The  theological  element  belongs  to  Scotch  Calvinism;  the 
legendary  to  northern  folklore  and  to  medieval  superstition. 

16  1.  Othou:  Burns,  like  Byron,  curiously  had  a  great  regard  for 
the  chief  of  the  school  whose  overthrow  his  own  work  proclaimed. 
Here  he  adapts  Pope's  apostrophe  to  Swift,  — 

'  O  tliou,  whatever  title  please  thine  ear, 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff,  or  Gulliver.' 

Du?iciad,  I. 

16  2.  Hornie  .  .  .  cavern  .  .  .  brunstane :  the  conception  of  a 
horned  devil  in  a  fiery  cavern  torturing  the  damned  is  a  product  of 
medieval   Christianity,  and  was  a   prominent    feature    of  the  Miracle 


184  NOTES. 

Plays.     It  still  lingers  in  Scotland  in  a  modified  form.     For  the  picture, 
cf .  Holy  Fair,  1 90,  p.  4 1  : 

'  A  vast  unbottom'd  boundless  pit, 
Filled  fou  o'  lowin  brunstane,'  etc. 

16  5.  cootie :  Satan  has  a  foot  pail  for  the  purpose  of  basting  his 
victims  with  liquid  brimstone.  The  humor  of  Spairges  cannot  be 
expressed  in  English. 

17  19.     roarin  lion  :  I  Peter,  v,  8. 

17  21.  tempest:  Ephesians,  ii,  2.  The  storm  is  congenial  to  the 
Prince  of  the  Powers  of  the  Air;  see  also  below,  11.  49-52,  and  cf. 
Tarn  C  Skanter,  73-78,  p.   147. 

17  22.  kirks:  it  was  part  of  the  devil's  business  to  unroof  these; 
ruined  churches  were  favorite  haunts  of  his;  cf.  Kirk  Alloway. 

17  25-30.  This  touch  of  pathos  in  the  deil's  romantic  love  of  soli- 
tude finds  its  full  expression  at  the  close  of  the  poem. 

17  33-42.  bummin  .  .  .  rash-buss  .  .  .  drake :  the  humorist  re- 
verses the  situation.  It  might  have  been  a  droning  beetle,  etc.,  but  it 
was  the  deil. 

18  55-60.  There  are  two  pieces  of  witchcraft  here,  —  the  bewitching 
of  the  churn  and  that  of  the  cow.  Both  superstitions  still  linger  in 
Scotland  and  in  Scandinavia,  and  various  charms  are  employed  to  re- 
move the  spell. — twal-pint :  giving  twelve  pints  (Scotch)  of  milk,  or 
three  gallons  at  a  'milking.' 

IS  69.  water-kelpies:  see  Gen.  Introd.,  §§  I  and  VI  (d).  The 
kelpie  usually  took  the  form  of  a  black  horse,  and,  inducing  travellers 
to  mount  him,  plunged  with  them  into  a  pool.  See  Folk-lore  of  the 
Northeast  of  Scotland,  pp.  66,  67  (Rev.  W.   Gregor,  F.L.S.,  1881). 

19  73.     spunkies  :  see  Vocab.     Cf.  .5.  ^.,  51,  p.  11 1. 

19  79.  masons'  :  Burns  was  an  ardent  freemason.  He  wrote  poems 
to  the  brethren,  signed  his  name  with  a  masonic  mark,  spoke  of  him- 
self as  a  '  mason-maker,'  and  was  at  all  times  ready  for  masonic  con- 
viviality. 

19  85.     This  stanza  originally  ran  : 

'  Lang  syne  in  Eden's  happy  scene, 
When  strappin  Adam's  days  were  green 
And  Eve  was  like  my  bonie  Jean, 

My  dearest  part, 
A  dancin,  sweet,  young  handsome  quean, 
O' guileless  heart.' 


NOTES.  185 

This  is  quite  in  the  strain  of  Ep.  D.,  loS,  etc.,  p.  14.  But  before  the 
Kilmarnock  edition  appeared  the  Armour  parents  had  loosed  upon 
him  the  'dogs  of  the  law'  ;  hence  the  alteration.  Cf.  the  similar  altera- 
tion in  71ie  V.,  63,  p.  87.  'Eden's  bonie  yard'  is  a  reminiscence  of 
Fergusson's  Caller  Water,  — 

'  When  Father  Adie  first  put  spade  in 
The  bonie  yard  o'  ancient  Eden.' 

19  92.  Paradise:  Genesis,  iii,  i.  The  identity  of  the  serpent  with 
Satan  is  an  essential  part  of  Scotch  theology. 

19  97.     that  day  :   Job,  i. 

20  111.  Michael :  Burns  gives  the  reference  to  Milton  {Par.  Lost, 
vi,  325)  where  the  sword  of  Michael 

'  deep-entering,  shared 
All  his  right  side  ;  then  Satan  first  knew  pain.' 

20  113.  Lallan  .  .  .  Erse:  'Lowland  .  .  .  Highland.'  Erse  is 
properly  Irish  as  distinct  from  Scotch  Gaelic. 

20  115.  auld  Cloots  :  '  old  Cloven-feet ' :  cf.  1.  2.  He  preserves  the 
familiarity,  but  softens  it  almost  to  fondness  in  the  next  stanza. 

20  122.     tak  a  thought :  regular  Scotch  idiom  for  '  reflect.' 

20  125.     den:  cf.  '  Crookie-den,'  a  name  for  hell  ;  as  in  the  song, — 

'  I  hae  been  to  Crookie-den, 

Bonie  laddie,  Highland  laddie.' 


DEATH   AND  DR.   HORNBOOK   (1785,  '  Seedtime '). 

The  subject  was  John  Wilson,  schoolmaster  and  grocer  in  Tarbolton, 
who,  having  become  '  hobl)y-horsically  attached  to  the  study  of  medicine,' 
added  drugs  to  his  store  and  offered  advice  gratis.  At  a  masonic 
meeting,  when  Burns  was  present,  he  made  such  a  parade  of  medical 
knowledge  that  Burns  determined  to  '  nail  the  self-conceited  sot  as 
dead's  a  herrin.'  The  poem,  like  Tarn  C  S/ianter,  was  written  at  a 
heat,  and,  when  it  circulated,  Wilson  had  to  shut  shop  and  school  and 
quit  the  district.  But  its  breadth  of  elaboration,  richness  of  descriptive 
detail,  and  grotesque  supernaturalism  lift  it  far  beyond  the  character  of 
an  occasional  satire. 

Dr.  Hornbook :  the  title  is  meant  to  suggest  the  puerile  character  of 
the  '  doctor's' knowledge.  Children's  reading  primers  used  to  be  called 
'  hornbooks  '  from  the  covering  of  '  translucent  horn  '  that  protected  the 
letters.     See  Cowper,  Tirocinium,  119,  120. 


186  NOTES. 

21  5      Var.     '  Great  lies  and  nonsense  baith  to  vend.' 
21   13.     The  role  of  inebriate,  which  is  purely  dramatic,  is  so  success- 
ful that    even   Wordsworth  enjoyed  it.       For  the   general   subject   in 
Burns's  life,  see  Introd.  to  Sc.  Dr. 

21  20.  Cumnock  hills :  southeast  of  Tarbolton.  Burns  gives  local 
particulars  without  invention  ;  so  '  Willie's  mill,'  below. 

22  33.  scythe  :  Burns  had  in  mind  the  allegorical  figure  of  Time. 
Death  is  commonly  represented  as  a  skeleton,  but  this  figure,  though 
little  more  than  skin  and  bone,  has  a  beard,  and  flesh  on  his  hips 
11.  41,  60,  84. 

22  37.     Scotch  ells  twa  :  6  ft.  2  in.     See  T.  S.,  84,  note. 

22  44.     sawin  :  '  This  rencontre  happened  in  seedtime.'  — B. 

22  47.  whare  ye  gaun :  the  rapid  colloquial  utterance  causes  the 
blending  of  luhare  and  a7-e.  Frequently,  too,  the  r  drops  out  of  the 
pronunciation  of  are  before  we  and  ye,  — '  a'e  we,'  '  a'e  ye.' 

23  57  f.  kittle  to  be  mislear'd  :  the  meaning  of  this  passage  is 
doubtful.  '  Misleared '  means  ill-taught,'  hence,  '  unmannerly,  mis- 
chievous'; 'kittle '==' ticklish.'  Thus  the  whole  phrase  probably 
means,  'I  should  be  a  ticklish  person  to  deal  with  if  I  became  mis- 
chievous.' 

23  62.     gie  's  :  give  us. 

23  65.  This  while :  for  some  time  past.  There  is  reference  to  an 
epidemic  then  raging  in  the  district. 

23  73.     sax  thousand  :  from  the  Creation,  B.C.  4004. 

23  80.  in:  into;  '  may  the  devil  make  a  tobacco-pouch  of  his  second 
stomach.' 

23  81.     Buchan  :  ^V>vichavC&  Dofiiestic  Medicine.''  —  B. 

24  95.     play'd  dirl :  struck  sharp  and  quivered  without  penetrating. 
This  is  a  common,  graphic  use  of  '  play.'     Cf.    To  the  U.  G.,  8,  p.  92  : 
'An'  still  the  clap   plays  clatter.'     Note  that  the  pronunciation  of  r 
gives  dirl  two  syllables. 

25  I."i3.  Johnie  Gad's  Hole  :  the  grave.  Cf.  '  Davie  Jones' Locker ' ; 
Johnie  Ged  is  here  humorously  taken  for  the  parish  gravedigger. 

25  135.  calf-ward :  the  churchyard  had  been  used  by  Johnie  as  a 
calf  pasture;  now  that  every  one  was  getting  cured  it  would  be 
plowed  up.  Johnie  v  ould  thus  find  both  his  pasture  and  his  occupa- 
tion gone. 

25  140.  pleugh  :  note  the  spelling  and  pronunciation.  In  1.  131  it  was 
plew  (ploo)  ;  here  it  is  guttural,  rhyming  with  enezigh,  sheugh. 

25  144.  twa-three:  the  same  law  holds  here  as  in  whare  ye  gaun 
(1.  47).     A  further  attrition  makes  it  two7-ree. 


I 


NOTES.  187 

25  145.  strae-death  :  i.e.,  natural  death  in  bed,  referring  to  the  olden- 
time  beds  of  straw. 

26  151.  honest  wabster  to  his  trade:  honest  (cf. //^«^j-/«j)  =  respec- 
table.    The  line  is  condensed,  = '  A  respectable  man,  a  weaver,'  etc. 

26  152.  She  used  her  fists  too  freely  on  her  husband,  who  profited  by 
her  headache  to  get  Hornbook  to  cure  her.  In  the  same  way  the 
young  laird  gets  rid  of  his  father. 

26  169-174.  Where  Hornbook  kills,  the  killing  is  murder;  and  where 
he  cures,  the  cure  is  cheating  Death. 

27  183.  wee  short  hour  ayont  the  twal  has  now  become  a  current 
phrase  for  the  stroke  of  one  o'clock. 


EPISTLE   TO   JOHN    LAPRAIK  (1785,  April  i). 

John  Lapraik  was  a  neighbor  farmer,  'a  veiy  worthy,  facetious  old 
fellow.'  He,  too,  published  poems,  but,  like  Davie's,  his  only  fame  is 
that  given  him  by  I'.urns.  The  song  which  was  the  occasion  of  this 
epistle  was  one  which  Lapraik  had  'borrowed'  from  the  Weekly  Maf;a- 
zhte,  or  Edudmrgh  A)nusc7nent  (Oct.  14,  1773),  and  slightly  altered  into 
Scotch.     Burns  never  knew  of  the  plagiarism. 

27  1.     This  is  '  Aprille  with  his  shoures  sote.'     Cf.  Chaucer,  Prol.  i. 

27  7.  Fasten-e'en:  Shrovetide.  —  rockin:  before  the  days  of  the 
spinning  wheel,  women  used  to  carry  their  rocks  or  distaffs  with  them 
when  they  went  visiting.  By  and  by  the  original  signification  disappeared, 
and  the  phrase  was  used  indiscriminately  by  men  and  women  ;  a  rockin 
l^ecame  a  social  gathering,  with  singing  and  other  amusements,  to  which 
the  women  brought  their  knitting  (1.  S). 

27  8.     ca'  the  crack :  keep  the  conversation  going. 

27  11  f.     yokin  at  sang-about :  set-to  at  singing  songs  in  turn. 

27  i;i.  ae  sang  :  see  note  above.  Burns  liked  it  so  well  that  he  had 
it  printed  in  Johnson's  Museum. 

28  21.  Pope,  etc.  :  notice  the  men  whom  he  cites.  The  original 
had  been  in  English,  and  it  seems  as  if  Burns  almost  looked  through  the 
fraud  of  Lapraik's  Scotch.  James  Beattie  (i 735-1803)  was  a  leading 
name  in  the  fashionable  Scotch-English  school  of  Burns's  day,  professor 
of  ethics  and  logic  in  Aberdeen,  and  author  of  an  Essay  on  Truth 
(1770),  and  The  Minstrel;  or.  The  Progress  of  Genius,  a  poem  in  the 
Spenserian  stanza  (177 1-4).  His  collected  works  were  published  in 
Philadelphia  in  ten  volumes,  1809. 


188  NOTES. 

28  23.     odd  kin'  chiel :  odd  kind  of  a  fellow.     See  Gram.  Introd. 

28  "AX.  That,  set  him :  imperat.  used  as  condit.  '  That,  if  you  put 
him,'  etc. 

28  35.     Inverness  :   then  the  northern  limit  of  Scotch  civilization. 

28  39.  cadger  pownie's  death  :  a  picturesquely  exaggerated  way  of 
saying  he  would  think  no  exertion  too  great  to  go  to  see  him.  Fish- 
cadgers'  ponies  are  notoriously  overdriven. 

28  41.  pint  an'  gill :  pint  of  ale  and  gill  of  whisky,  an  old-fashioned 
Scotch  treat  for  two.     For  them,  see  Gram.  Introd. 

29  50.     like:  'as  it  were,' interjectional. 

29  60.  maybe:  in  Scotch,  an  adv.  =  perhaps ;  'are 'is  not  redun- 
dant. 

29  65.  ye 'd  better  taen :  you  had  better  have  taken;  see  Gram. 
Introd. 

29  66.     knappin-hammers  :  or  taken  to  breaking  road  metal. 

29  67-72.  With  occasional  misgivings,  as  in  his  Kilmarnock  preface, 
this  contempt  for  academic  learning  was  his  confirmed  opinion. 

30  79,  80.  Allan  Ramsay  and  Robert  Fergusson ;  see  Gen.  Introd., 
pp.  xxv-xxix. 

30  103.     Mauchline  .  .  .  Fair :  celebrated  on  the  road  near  Mossgiel. 

31  109.  four-gill  chap :  the  mutchkin  measure;  it  is  of  pewter,  and 
has  a  lid;  hence  the  clatter.  Whisky  is  meant,  and 'toddy' is  to  be 
brewed. 


EPISTLE   TO   \VILLIAM    SIMSON   (1785,   May). 

Burns's  first  theological  satire,  The  Twa  Herds;  or,  The  Holy  Tiilzie, 
had  already  circulated  in  MS.,  and  met  with  roars  of  applause.  A  copy 
reached  William  Simson,  schoolmaster  and  poet,  who  addressed  an 
epistle  to  Burns.  The  latter  replied  in  this  poem,  which  is  not  only  in- 
tensely patriotic,  but  intensely  local  in  its  patriotism. 

32  2.  brawlie :  heartily;  for  this  rare  use,  cf.  The  DeWs  Awa,  i\. 
p.  156,— 

'  An'  mony  braw  thanks  to  the  muckle  black  deil.' 

A  popular  Norwegian  use  of  b7-a  corresponds. 

32  13.     Proverbial.  =  1  would  show  I  had  completely  lost  my  head. 

32  15.  Gilbertfield  :  \\illiam  Hamilton  of  Gilbertfield.  See  Gen. 
Introd.,  p.  xxiv. 


NOTES.  189 

32  17.  writer-chiel :  '  writer '  is  Scotcii  for  attorney  or  lawyer. 
Fergusson  worked  in  a  law  office  in  Edinburgh  (1.  21).  See  Gen. 
Introd.,  p.  xxviii. 

32  27.     dead  :  a  noun,  =  '  death.' 

33  30.     ease :  see  The  V.,  r  50,  note. 

33  31.     Coila  :  see  Raiitin  Rovin  Robin,  i,  and  The  V.,  109,  notes. 

2)2>  32.     poets  :  Davie  Sillar,  Lapraik,  Simson,  and  himself. 

33  43  ff.  Cf.  with  this  the  entry  in  his  Comm.  PL  Bk.  for  August, 
1784  (.')  {ITorhs,  vol.  iii,  p.  91)  :  '  However  I  am  pleased  with  the  works 
of  our  Scotch  poets,  particularly  the  excellent  Ramsay  and  the  still  more 
excellent  Fergusson,  yet  I  am  hurt  to  see  other  places  of  Scotland  .  .  . 
immortalized  in  such  celebrated  performances,  whilst  my  dear  native 
country,  the  ancient  .  .  .  ,  famous  .  .  .  ,  a  country  where  .  .  .  ,  the  birth- 
place of  ...  ,  the  scene  of  .  .  .  ,  particularly  the  actions  of  the  glorious 
Wallace,  the  saviour  of  his  country;  yet  we  have  never  had  one 
Scotch  poet  of  any  eminence  to  make  the  fertile  banks  of  Irvine,  the 
romantic  woodlands  and  sequestered  scenes  on  Aire,  and  the  healthy 
mountainous  source  and  winding  sweep  of  Doon  emulate  Tay,  Forth, 
Kttrick,  Tweed,  etc'  Mr.  Scott  Douglas  arbitrarily  places  the  above 
passage  under  the  year  1785;  15urns  gives  the  month  August.  More 
probably  it  was  written  in  August,  1784,  and  used,  according  to  his 
practice  (cf.  To  the  U.  G.,  introd.  and  note,  and  C.  S.  N'.,  1.  64,  note),  in 
the  composition  of  the  poem  instead  of  conversely. 

33  .'J8.  Wallace :  type  of  the  Scottish  patriot  and  liberator  before 
Bruce.  By  treachery  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  English,  was  taken 
to  London  and  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  In  his  boyhood  Burns 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Leglen  Wood,  a  haunt  of  Wallace,  and 
'explored  every  den  and  dell.'  Blind  Harry,  the  minstrel,  wrote  an 
exaggerated  account  of  his  adventures  in  rude  rhyme,  entitled '  Ye  Actis 
and  Deidis  of  ye  Illnster  and  Vailzeand  Championn,  Schir  William  Wal- 
lace'' (ed.  by  Dr.  Jamieson,  40,  Edin.,  1820).  Cf.  Gen.  Introd.,  p.  xxxix, 
and  see  Scott's  Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  ch.  vii. 

34  6.5.  red-wat-shod  :  '  wat-shod  '  is  an  old  compound,  '  with  wet 
feet ' ;  the  '  red  '  added  by  Burns  is  all  the  more  terrible  from  being 
merely  suggestive. 

34  73.  ev'n  winter:  see  his  poems  A.  W.  N.,  p.  117,  and  Winter, 
a  Dirge.  He  loved  to  describe  winter,  not  more  for  graphic  effect  than 
for  the  suggestions  of  humanity  it  stirred. 

34  7.'').     Ochiltree:  on  theLugar;  Simson  was  schoolmaster  there. 

34  85.     The  Muse:  cf.  The  V.,  211-228,  p.  90. 

34  88.     think  lang :  'feel  the  time  heavy';  usually  with  a  negative. 


190  NOTES. 

35  95.  grumbling  hive  :  Burns  may  have  read  Bernard  Mandeville's 
Fable  of  the  Bees  ;  or.  The  Grumbling  Hive  of  Knaves  turned  Honest. 

35  103.  tolls  and  taxes :  these  were  pet  aversions  of  the  high- 
landers.  The  former  were  satirized  in  a  comic  ballad  just  before  Burns's 
day,  the  Tirningpike  (turnpike).  Tolls  were  universal  on  the  highways 
of  Scotland  until  recent  years. 

There  is  a  long  postscript  to  this  epistle  in  which  the  quarrel  of  the 
Auld  and  New  Lichts  is  humorously  disposed  of  as  a  squabble  about 
the  old  and  the  new  moon,  a  '  moonshine  matter.'  It  was  not  so,  and 
the  quarrel  was  soon  to  draw  from  Burns  some  of  his  heaviest  shot. 
The  Auld  Lichts  were  those  who  held  firmly  to  the  Westminster  Con- 
fession of  Faith  and  the  theology  of  Calvin ;  the  New  Lichts  were  the 
'  moderates,'  who  admitted  humane  culture  and  a  kindlier  creed. 


THE    HOLY    FAIR  (1785;  probably  August). 

There  is  no  longer  any  doubt  that  this  poem  belongs  to  1785;  the 
discovery  of  the  poet's  later  Comm.  PL  Bk.  has  settled  the  point.i 

In  several  places  this  poem  touches  Ep.  McM.,  which  more  probably 
echoes  this  poem  than  conversely  (see  Ep.  McM.,  p.  43,  and  notes). 
The  poem,  moreover,  is  manifestly  the  result  of  fresh  inspiration,  and 
the  Holy  Fair  of  Mauchline  was  then  held  in  August.  The  stanza 
beginning  '  Leeze  me  on  Drink  ! '  is  evidently  the  germ  of  Sc.  Dr.,  and 
not  a  reminiscence  of  that  poem. 

A  Holy  Fair  was  a  kind  of  cross  betw^een  an  old  Catholic  festival  and 
a  Methodist  camp  meeting.  It  was  held  for  the  celebration  of  the 
Lord's  Supper  and  the  conversion  of  souls.  Burns  had  no  particle  of 
reverence  for  this  kind  of  religion,  but  his  descriptive  details  are  not 
distorted  ;  they  are  true  to  fact,  and  therein  lies  the  sting  of  the  satire. 
When  plowmen  engaged  themselves  to  a  master  they  used  to  stipulate 
that  they  should  be  allowed  to  attend  so  many  fairs  or  so  many  sacra- 
ments during  the  year;  a  fair  and  a  sacrament  being  thus  to  them 
practically  identical,  they  used  to  behave  at  the  one  as  they  did  at  the 
other.  To  find  anything  like  this  poem,  we  must  go  back  to  Dunbai 
and  Lindsay. 

'  Holy  Fair '  being  a  common  phrase  for  a  sacramental  occasion, 
there  is  no  need  to  suppose  the  title  borrowed  from  Fergusson's  Hallow 

1  Mr.  .Scott  Douglas  gives  this  Cofnm.  PL  Bk.  in  an  appendix  to  vol.  vi,  but 
in  vol.  iii  he  strangely  places  The  Holy  Pair  under  1786,  and  feels  'bound  to 
regard  it  as  later  than  February.' 


NO  TES.  191 

Fair.  Both  plan  and  metre  of  the  poem,  however,  are  taken  from  that 
poet's  Leith  Races.  Burns  had  been  studying  Fergusson  since  1782,  so 
that  his  request  of  February,  1786,  that  his  friend  Richmond  should 
send  him  a  copy  of  Fergusson 's  poems  is  of  no  account  in  fixing  the 
date.  He  may,  however,  have  improved  the  poem  later. 
36  1.     Cf.  Fergusson's  openings  — 

'  In  July  month,  ae  bonie  morn, 
When  Nature's  rokelay  green 
Was  spread  owre  ilka  rig  o'  corn 
To  charm  our  rovin  een.' 

36  5.     Galston  :  next  parish  north  of  Mauchline.     Burns  never  seeks 
to  disguise  localities.     Cf.  D.  and  Dr.  H.,  20,  p.  21. 
36  10.     Fergusson  has 

'  Glowrin  about  I  saw  a  quean 
The  fairest  neath  the  lift.' 

36  15.     lyart  linin  :  the  garb  of  Hypocrisy. 

36  23.  The  third :  Burns  appears  to  follow  Fergusson  here  quite 
closely  ;  compare  the  two  for  a  study  in  true  '  originality.' 

37  37.     my  name  is  Fun:   'They  ca'  me  Mirth.'  —  Fergusson. 
37  50.     crowdie-time  :  here  =  ' breakfast-time  '  ;  see  1.  229. 

37  57.  braw  braid-claith  :  it  is  stiil  a  point  of  etiquette  among  the 
country  people  in  Scotland  to  have  a  '  stand  o'  Sabbath  claes.' 

37  59.  barefit :  a  country  custom,  practiced  as  much  to  ease  the 
feet  as  to  save  the  fine  shoes. 

37  61.  cheese  .  .  .  farls :  the  lasses  took  lunch  with  them  and 
treated  the  lads  during  intervals.     Cf.  11.  217-225. 

37  64  by  the  plate:  observe  the  local  details.  The  fair  was  held 
in  the  churchyard,  which  in  country  parishes  always  surrounds  the 
church,  and  is  itself  enclosed  by  a  stone  wall  ;  the  '  plate,'  a  large  pewter 
vessel  usually  set  at  the  church  door  to  receive  the  'collection,'  is  here 
placed  by  the  churchyard  gate.  They  were  about  to  pass  {'  gae  by  ')  the 
plate. 

37  6f).  Black  Bonnet :  the  '  elder  '  who  stood  beside  the  plate  com- 
monly wore  a  John  Knox  bonnet. 

37  67.  tippence :  i.e.,  a  penny  each;  the  satirist  treats  the  whole 
affair  as  a  penny  '  show  '  (1.  68). 

38  75.  Racer  Jess :  the  long-limbed,  half-witted  daughter  of  Poosie 
Nansie  oi  Jolly  Beggars. 

38  81.  fun:  the  'fun'  is  heightened  by  the  fact  that  the  'black 
guards  '  must  iiave  come  ten  miles  to  enjoy  it.  Kilmarnock  is  a  weav- 
ing town  about  ten  miles  from  Mauchline. 


192  NOTES. 

38  86.  chosen  swatch:  the  Unco  Guid,  who  were  soon  to  receive 
their  own  special  castigation. 

38  91.  0  happy,  etc.  :  Psalm  cxlvi,  5.  This  stanza  was  extravagantly 
praised  by  Hogg,  the  '  Ettrick  Shepherd.' 

39  102.  Moodie  :  one  of  the  Twa  Herds  of  the  H.  T.  He  and  all 
the  others  mentioned  later  were  clergymen  of  the  district ;  Burns  did 
with  men  as  he  did  with  places  (see  1.  5,  note). 

39  103.     damnation:   'salvation'  in    the    Kilmarnock  edition.     The 
change  was  suggested  by  Dr.  Hugh  Blair,  of  '  Rhetoric '  fame. 
39  105.     'Mang  sons  0'  God  :  Job,  i,  6.     Cf.  To  the  D.,  97,  p.  19. 
39  107.     Van: 

'  Aff  straucht  to  hell  had  sent  him 
Fast,  fast  that  day.' 

39  120.  real  judges:  the  '  Auld  Licht '  evangelicals;  disgusted  with 
mere  moral  preaching,  they  go  off  to  have  a  different  kind  of  spiritual 
refreshment. 

40  131.     Antonine  :  Marcus  Aurelius,  of  the  Meditations. 
40  134.     faith  in  :  the  grammar  is  forced  to  suit  the  rhyme. 

40  1.38.  water-fit :  'foot  of  the  water,'  mouth  of  the  river.  Newton- 
on-Ayr  is  meant. 

40  142.  Common  Sense :  merely  a  personification  here,  though  Dr. 
Mackenzie,  of  Mauchline,  one  of  the  '  New  Lichts,'  wrote  under  this 
nom  de plume.  The  reference  is  to  common  sense  in  matters  of  dogma, 
or  to  the  '  New  Licht '  party. 

40  143.     Cowgate  :  the  street  facing  the  exit  from  the  churchyard. 

40  ]52.  Like  hafflins-wise  :  'like,'  '-lins,'  and  'wise'  all  have  the 
same  force,  —  'as  it  were,'  'in  a  manner,'  'after  a  fashion.' 

40  154.  change-house :  the  tavern,  formerly  an  almost  universal 
annex  to  the  kirk  in  rural  Scotland. 

41  163.  Leeze  me,  etc.:  see  introd.  note.  It  is  very  improbable  that 
Burns  would  have  inserted  such  a  digression  after\^Q  had  written  Sc.Dr. 

41  181.  touts  :  see  Vocab.  Russel's  preaching  voice  was  audible  a 
mile  off. 

41   187.  hell :  cf.  To  the  D.  and  notes. 

41  188.  sauls  does  harrow  :  '  Shakespeare's  ZTa/w/i?^.'  —  B. 

'  I  could  a  tale  unfold  whose  lightest  word 

Would  harrow  up  thy  soul.' 

i,  V,  14. 

42  200.     stories  :  '  incidents,'  the  recital  of  which  would  be  'stories.' 
42  205.     cheese  and  bread  :  cf.  1.  62,  note. 


NOTES.  193 

42  215.  like  a  tether  :  cf.  '  half-mile  graces '  {Ep.  McM.,  21,  p.  44) ; 
'  as  lang  's  my  airm  '  {To  a  II.,  5,  p.  121).  He  himself  composed  some 
famous  graces,  notably  the  Selkirk  Grace,  for  which  see  To  a  Haggis, 
1.  24,  note. 

42  217-225.     Explained  by  the  custom  above,  1.  62. 

43  226.  Clinkumbell :  the  beadle.  Cf.  '  Burnewin'  (blacksmith, 
'  burn-the-wind '),  'Clout  the  caudron  '  (tinker). —  Rattlin  refers  to  the 
chain  usually  forming  the  bell-pull. 

43  231.  strip  their  shoon  :  see  1.  59,  note;  they  had  put  on  their 
shoes  on  approaching  the  meeting ;  now  they  doffed  them  to  return 
'  barefit '  as  they  had  come. 


EPISTLE   TO    REV.    JOHN    McMATH  (1785,  Sept.  17). 

In  July,  Gawin  Hamilton,  a  generous,  upright  man,  but  not  conspicu- 
ously devout,  was  brought  up  before  the  presbytery  of  Ayr  for  irregularity 
in  church  attendance,  whistling  on  a  Fast  Day,  and  saying  '  Dammit.' 
His  chief  persecutor  was  a  sanctimonious  hypocrite  who  afterwards 
robbed  the  poor-bo.x,  and  died  drunk  in  a  ditch,  William  Auld.  Burns 
followed  up  the  trial  by  a  merciless  satire  on  Holy  Willie's  devotions, 
which  was  also  a  burlesque  of  the  extreme  '  Auld  Licht '  doctrines. 
McMath,  one  of  the  '  New  Lichts,'  asked  Burns  for  a  copy  of  H.  IV, 
Pr.,  and  it  was  sent  along  with  this  Epistle. 

43  1.  shearers  :  because  they  used  sickles.  The  bad  weather  of  this 
season  destroyed  half  of  the  Mossgiel  crop. 

43  7.  monie  a  sonnet :  e.g.,  H.  T.,  II.  IF.  Pr.,  Ep.  to  G.,  II.  F.  He 
would  hardly  have  said  'monie  a'  if  the  last  were  not  included.  See 
introd.  note  on  //.  /'".     Sonnet  has  its  larger  meaning. 

43  8.  gown,  ban'  :  these  are  the  canonicals  of  the  Scotch  clergy, — 
the  Geneva  gown  and  the  'bands,'  or  broad-tailed  white  necktie  worn  in 
the  pulpit.     Bonnet  is   the  flat   John  Knox  cap,  mentioned  //.  F.,  66, 

p-  n- 

44  17,  18.  Ref.  to  the  weak  joint  in  his  armor.  They  did  attack 
him,  and  he  had  to  sit  on  the  'cutty-stool.' 

44  20.     grace-proud  faces :  another  echo  of  //.  F.,  87,  p.  38. 
44  25.     Gau'n:   Gavin   Hamilton;  see  introd.  note. 
44  .in.     What  way :  condensed  for  '  at  the  way  in  which.' 
4.S  53.     And  then  :   the  construction  is  broken,  —  'he'll  still  disdain 
etc.,  'and  [disdain]  tlien  to  cry,'  etc.     Still  =  always. 


194  NOTES. 

45  60.     straight:  rimes  with  '  wight';  both  are  guttural. 

45  61.  All  hail,  Religion!  True  religion  remains  unsullied  by  all 
of  Burns's  satires.  Presently  he  was  to  express  his  reverence  for  such 
in  C.  S.  N.  When  Carlyle  said  Burns  had  'no  religion,'  his  judgment 
was  partially  warped  by  the  very  Puritanism  which  Burns  so  ruthlessly 
exposed. 

46  91.     freedom  :  referring  to  the  preceding  complimentary  stanza. 
46  96.     belang'd  ye  :  i.e.,  'to  you.'     Cf.  Bonie  Lesley,  14,  p.  158. 


THE    BRAES    O'   BALLOCHMYLE    (1785,  October  (?)  ). 

In  the  midst  of  ecclesiastical  and  theological  bickerings  Burns  still 
preserved  a  note  of  pure  song.  This  is  only  one  of  several  detached 
songs  of  this  period,  and  it  was  about  this  time  that  he  composed  his 
cantata,  The  Jolly  Beggars,  his  work  of  greatest  artistic  promise. 

The  Ballochmyle  estate  was  noted  for  its  scenery,  and  was  a  favorite 
resort  of  Burns.  The  Whiteford  family  had  to  part  with  the  property 
for  financial  reasons,  and  Maria,  who  sings  this  Farewell,  is  Miss  White- 
ford.     Here,  again,  we  have  real  scenery,  real  places,  and  actual  names. 


TO   A    MOUSE    (1785,   November). 

Here  we  have  the  promise  of  Alailie  fulfilled;  the  tenderness  is 
deepened,  the  same  playfulness  is  combined  with  a  richer  pathos,  and 
the  ethic  is  made  to  broaden  out  into  life  itself. 

47  5,  6.  Burns  was  plowing  with  four  horses.  When  the  mouse 
ran,  the  boy  who  was  'gaudsman'  to  the  leading  pair  nished  to  kill  it 
with  the  '  pattle.'  Burns  saved  the  mouse's  life,  and,  as  he  went  on 
plowing,  composed  this  poem.  To  a  M.  D.  was  composed  under 
similar  circumstances,  and  much  of  his  best  verse  was  composed  at  the 
plow.  It  was  a  favorite  place  of  his  for  composition,  and  never  more 
so  than  when  farming  began  to  fail  him. 

48  33.  For:  in  spite  of;  cf.  'For  a'  that.'  —  Trouble  rhymes  with 
'nibble,'  a  local  pronunciation. 

48  37.  thy  lane :  '  alone  by  thyself ' ;  cf.  the  old  Eng.  usage  '  my 
lone.' 


NOTES.  195 


THE   COTTER'S   SATURDAY    NIGHT  (1785,  November). 

There  is  no  need  to  question  the  November  of  1.  i.  He  was  doubt- 
less composing  Halloween  at  the  same  time. 

Fergusson's  Farmer''s  Ingle,  though  it  suggested  the  title  and  fur- 
nished the  model  on  which  Burns  improved,  explains  as  little  of  the 
origin  as  it  does  of  the  workmanship  of  this  poem.  Having  in  previous 
satires  exposed  the  ugly  side  of  Scotch  religion,  it  is  not  strange  that  he 
should  desire  to  do  justice  to  the  beauty  of  Scotch  family  devotion.  It 
was  the  religious  aspect  of  the  picture  which  first  drew  him  to  portray 
it.  He  had  frequently  remarked  to  his  brother  Gilbert  that  to  him  there 
was  something  peculiarly  venerable  in  the  phrase  '  Let  us  worship  God,' 
used  by  the  head  of  a  family  introducing  family  worship.  So  closely 
allied  to  this  sincere  religion  as  to  form  part  of  it  is  the  ethical  element 
that  gives  the  picture  its  human  beauty. 

The  easy  and  quiet  swing  of  the  verse  is  suggestive.  It  no  doubt 
points  to  a  careful  study  of  Shenstone,  but  it  also  means  that  Hypocrisy 
and  Superstition  and  Cant,  with  their  '  holy  robes  and  hellish  spirit,' 
their  '  mean  revenge  '  and  '  malice  false,'  and  all  the  sickening  and  irri- 
tating thoughts  of  the  Herds  and  Holy  Willies  have  been  dismissed. 
He  had  summed  them  up  in  Ep.  McM.  and  put  them  away,  and  now  he 
turns  with  a  calm  spirit  to  the  simple  dignity  of  the  cotter's  home  and 
bids  '  All  hail '  to  the  religion  of  his  father's  fireside.  This  serious 
picture  is  as  true  to  fact  as  the  contemptuous  humors  of  H.  F. 

49  la.  pleugh  :  pron.  here  '  plooch  '  to  rime  with  sugh  (sooch).  See 
D.  and  Dr.  H.,  134,  note. 

49  14.  Cotter :  the  life  selected  is  socially  a  degree  below  that  of  his 
father's  home.  Burns's  father,  like  himself,  was  a  yeoman  rather  than 
a  peasant.     For  another  description  of  the  cotter's  life,  see  T.  D.,  p.  71- 

49  17.  the  morn  :  regular  Scotch  for 'to-morrow ';  so  we  have  the 
day,  the  nicht,  the  streen. 

50  21.  Burns  was  a  student  and  admirer  of  Gray;  this  is  a  remi- 
niscence of  the  Elegy,  — 

'  For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Nor  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care, 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share.' 

Burns  headed  the  poem  by  a  quotation  from  the  same  source. 
50  26.     Does  :  see  Gram.  Introd.  —  Kiaugh  and  care  :  var.  '  carking 
cares.' 


196  NOTES. 

50  29.  At  service:  even  the  small  farmers  sent  their  sons  and 
daughters  out  into  '  service.' 

50  31.     toun  :  'farm-toun.'     See  Vocab. 

50  35.     deposite  :  old  Sc.  pron.  due  to  Fr.  influence ;  cf.  envy. 

50  42.  Anticipation:  the  contrast  between  this  strikingly  eighteenth- 
century  line  and  the  couplet  that  follows  is  so  violent  that  only  a  false 
admiration  for  his  English  predecessors  can  explain  it.  There  are  other 
feeblenesses  due  to  the  same  cause. 

50  47.  warned :  not  -warned.  The  roll  of  the  r  gives  the  extra 
syllable. 

51  50-54.  These  lines  embody  the  groundwork  of  the  old  Scotch 
training,  always  liable  to  perversion,  and  now  disappearing. 

51  58.  hame :  i.e.,  back  to  her  'place.'  When  a  farm-servant  is 
'fee'd,'  his  or  her  new  place  of  abode  is  'hame.'  To  'gae  hame'  in  this 
connection  is  to  go  to  begin  work  in  the  new  place. 

51  70.     wiles:   'penetration';  cf.  wily,  above,  1.  50. 

51  77.     If  Heaven,  etc.;  versified  from  Comni.  PI.  Bk.,  April,  1873. 

52  93.     sowpe:  applied  to  any  kind  of  liquid  ;  see  Vocab. 

52  103.  ha'-bible :  a  possession  in  almost  every  Scottish  home. 
The  scene  is  described  from  his  father's  household ;  Burns,  too,  in  his 
own  home  was  punctilious  in  the  observance  of  family  worship. 

52  111.  Dundee  .  .  .  Martyrs  .  .  .  Elgin:  names  of  favorite  old 
church  melodies  :    note  that  the  g  of  Elgin  is  hard. 

53  116.  ear  .  .  .  raise:  grammar  according  to  sense,  —  'trills  that 
tickle  the  ear  raise  no,'  etc. ;  '  they  '  (1.  108)  ^=  the  trills. 

53  118-135.  Burns  was  very  familiar  with  the  Bible,  and  here  he 
rapidly  traverses  both  Old  and  New  Testaments.  In  the  latter  stanza 
he  speaks  of  the  Gospels  (128-130),  Acts  (131),  Epistles  (132),  and 
Apocalypse  (133-5). 

53  129.     second  name  :  i.e.,  second  person  of  the  Trinity. 

53  138.     '  Pope's  IVhidsor  Forest ''  —  B. 

'  See !  from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheasant  springs 
And  mounts  exulting  on  triumphant  wings.'  — 11.  in,  112. 

54  145-153.  This  stanza  is  a  direct  and  deliberate  offset  to  the  religion 
of  the  Holy  Fair  and  the  pulpit. 

54  158,  159.     raven  .  .  .  lily:  Psalm  cxlvii,  9;  Matthew,  vi,  28. 

54  163.  The  late  Professor  John  Nichol,  in  the  Introductory  Essay 
to  Mr.  Scott  Douglas's  edition,  finds  the  secret  of  Scotland's  greatness 
to  '  rely  on  the  influence  of  a  few  men  of  such  character  as  the  father 
of  Burns.'     When  Carlyle  with  filial  adoration  compares  his  father  with 


NOTES.  197 

Burns,  to  the  latter's  disadvantage,  he  should  have  made  the  comparison 
between  his  own  and  the  poet's  father. 

54  166.  Pope,  Essay  on  Man,  iv,  248.  The  cast  of  the  preceding 
line  is  taken  from  Goldsmith,  — 

'  Princes  and  lords  ma>;  flourish  and  may  fade,  — 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made.' 

Deserted  Village,  53. 

54  171.  Cf.  The  T.  D.,  pp.  71  ff.  This  inveterate  jealousy  and  sus- 
picion of  rank  grew  on  Purns  in  his  later  life. 

55  176.  prevent  from  luxury :  the  old  dread  alike  of  Roman  Stoic 
and  Scotch  Puritan.  Prevent  is  simply  'shut  off.'  The  peculiarity  is 
in  the  noun  '  contagion,'  where  we  should  expect  '  from  being  contami- 
nated,' or  infected. 

55  182.     Wallace :  see  Ej).  W.  S.,  58,  note. 


HALLOWEEN    (1785  ;    about  the  same  time  as  the  foregoing). 

The  eve  of  All  Saints  (Oct.  31)  is  a  Catholic  festival,  but,  like 
those  celebrations  elsewhere,  it  had  in  Scotland  drawn  to  itself  much  of 
the  Pagan  tradition  and  folk  superstition  of  the  country.  Burns  omits 
several  practices  that  still  survive  in  rural  districts,  —  e.g.,  masquerading 
and  singing  Plalloween  songs,  ducking  for  apples,  eating  mashed  pota- 
toes out  of  a  common  pot  which  contains  a  ring,  a  piece  of  silver,  etc., 
that  bring  special  destinies  on  the  finder.  Those  preserved  by  Burns 
have  now  almost  entirely  disappeared,  and  may  have  begun  to  fall  into 
desuetude  in  the  poet's  day.  Naturally,  therefore.  Burns  in  localizing 
the  poem  goes  back  to  the  scenery  and  associations  of  his  childhood, 
when  credulity  and  imagination  were  equally  brisk. 

John  Mayne  (1759-1836),  author  of  T/ie  Siller  Gint,  Helen  of  Kir k- 
connell,  Logan  Braes,  etc.,  wrote  a  poem  on  Halloween,  which  appeared 
in  the  Weekly  Magazine,  November,  1780  (cf.  Ep.  J.  L.,  introd.  note). 
Burns  probably  made  use  of  it.  It  is  quoted  after  Halloween  in 
the  3  vol.  edition  of  Burns's  works,  published  by  Jas.  R.  Osgood  &  Co., 
Boston,  1877.  Mayne  introduces  the  'guidwife's  nits,'  the  reference 
to  people  'trying  their  nits,'  the  charms  of  the  'blue-clue,'  and  the 
'hemp-seed,'  the  incident  of  falling  into  a  'peatpot.'  The  composi- 
tion of  Burns's  Halloween  evinces  great  care,  and  while,  like  the 
Holy  Fair,  the  poem  points  to  the  inspiration  of  recent  occurrences,  it 
was  by  no  means  hurriedly    written.     The  poet's  descriptive  power  is 


198  NOTES. 

here  at  its  best.  As  a  picture  of  a  different  phase  of  Scottish  country 
life,  it  is  a  striking  comparison  to  C.  S.  N.,  and  another  offset  to  H.  F. 
Burns  fully  annotated  the  poem  himself,  as  if  conscious  that  he  was 
preserving  traditions  that  were  soon  to  be  obsolete. 

55  1.  that  night :  '  when  witches,  devils,  and  other  mischief-making 
beings  are  all  abroad,  .  .  .  particularly  the  fairies.'  —  B.  The  fairies  were 
supernatural  beings  about  the  height  of  quart  bottles ;  they  dressed  in 
green,  and  loved  to  dance  on  sequestered  spots  of  fine  sward  and 
grassy  knolls.  The  superstitious  Scot  sought  to  propitiate  them  in 
various  ways,  e.g.,  by  calling  them  '  the  gude  bodies '  (cf.  the  Gr. 
Eu77ienides). 

55  2.  Cassilis  Bownans  :  '  certain  little,  romantic,  rocky,  green  hills 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  ancient  seat  of  the  Earls  of  Cassilis.' — B. 
They  are  on  the  lower  Doon,  near  Burns's  birthplace. 

55  5.  Colean :  Culzean,  or  Colean,  House  is  another  seat  of  the 
Cassilis  family,  situated  on  the  cliffy  Carrick  coast  ;  the  cove,  another 
haunt  of  the  fairies,  is  right  under  the  castle. 

55  13.  Carrick  :  see  R.  R.  R.,  i,  note.  King  Robert  Bruce  was  origi- 
nally Earl  of  Carrick. 

56  20.     '  Better  looking  than  when  they  have  fine  clothes  on.' 

56  23.     wooer-babs  :  rosettes  to  set  off  the  knee-breeches  then  worn. 

56  29.  stocks :  '  The  first  ceremony  of  Halloween  is  pulling  each  a 
stock,  or  plant,  of  kail.  They  must  go  out,  hand  in  hand,  with  eyes 
shut  and  pull  the  first  they  meet  with  :  its  being  big  or  little,  straight 
or  crooked,  is  prophetic  of  the  size  and  shape  of  the  grand  object  of 
all  their  spells,  —  the  husband  or  wife.  If  any  "  yird,"  or  earth,  stick  to 
the  root,  that  is  "  tocher,"  or  fortune  ;  and  the  taste  of  the  "  custoc,"  that 
is,  the  heart  of  the  stem,  is  indicative  of  the  natural  temper  or  disposi- 
tion. Lastly  the  stems,  or  to  give  them  their  proper  appellation,  the 
"  runts,"  are  placed  above  the  head  of  the  door  :  and  the  Christian 
names  of  people  whom  chance  brings  into  the  house  are,  according  to 
the  priority  of  placing  the  runts,  the  names  in  question.'  —  B. 

56  32.     fell  aff  the  drift :  '  dropped  away  from  the  others.' 

57  47-52.  '  They  go  to  the  barnyard  and  pull  each,  at  three  several 
times,  a  stalk  of  oats.  If  the  third  stock  wants  the  "  top-pickle,"  that 
is,  the  grain  at  the  top  of  the  stalk,  the  party  in  question  will  come  to 
the  marriage-bed  anything  but  a  maid.'  —  B. 

57  53.  fause-house :  'When  the  corn  is  in  a  doubtful  state,  by 
being  too  green  or  wet,  the  stack-builder,  by  means  of  old  timber,  etc., 
makes  a  large  apartment  in  his  stack,  with  an  opening  in  the  side  which 
is  fairest  exposed  to  the  wind  :   this  he  calls  a  "  fause-house."  '  —  B. 


NOTES.  199 

57  55.  weel-hoordit  nits  :  '  Burning  the  nuts  is  a  favorite  charm : 
they  name  the  lad  or  lass  to  each  particular  nut  as  they  lay  them  in  the 
fire  ;  and  according  as  they  burn  quietly  together  or  start  from  beside 
one  another  the  course  and  issue  of  the  courtship  will  be.' — B. 

57  62.     chimlie  :  'mantel-piece' (not '  chimney,' which  is' lum,'l.  70). 

57  67.     says  in  :  '  inwardly  '  :  opposed  to  '  say  oot,'  i.e.,  aloud. 

57  74.     Mallie:  i.e.,- Mary. 

58  98.  blue-clue :  '  Steal  out,  all  alone,  to  the  kiln,  and  darkling 
throw  into  the  "  pot  "  a  clue  of  blue  yarn  :  wind  it  in  a  new  clue  off  the 
old  one  ;  and  toward  the  latter  end  something  will  hold  the  thread  : 
demand  "  Wha  bauds  } "  and  answer  will  be  returned  from  the  kiln-pot 
by  naming  the  Christian  and  surname  of  your  future  spouse.'  —  B. 

58  100.     win't :  i.e., 'winded  '  (wound).     See  Gram.  Introd. 
58  102.     pat :   the  kiln-pot,  or  bottom  of  the  kiln. 

58  107.     wait  on  talkin  :  wait  for  words. 

59  111.  apple  at  the  glass  :  '  Take  a  candle  and  go  alone  to  a  look- 
ing-glass :  eat  an  apple  before  it  (and  some  traditions  say  you  should 
comb  your  hair  all  the  time) :  the  face  of  your  conjugal  companion  to 
be  will  be  seen  in  the  glass  as  if  peeping  over  your  shoulder.'  —  B. 
It  might  be  the  deil. 

59  118.  skelpie-limmer's  face  :  '  a  technical  term  in  female  scolding.' 
—  B.     Something  like  'bold-faced  gadabout.' 

59  127.  Sherra  moor  :  battle  of  Sheriffmuir,  which  quelled  the  Jacob- 
ite rising  of  1715  :  the  clans  were  raised  by  the  Earl  of  Mar,  whence 
'  Mar's  year,'  below,  1.  240. 

59  128.  min 't :  'mind  it':  cf.  win't,  1.  100.  Grannie  is  dramatically 
longwinded  in  her  reminiscences,  like  Juliet's  nurse. 

59  132.     stuff :  regular  term  for  the  grain  crops. 

59  133.     kirn  :  '  harvest-home  '  :  cf.  Sc.  Dr.,  49,  p.  65;  The  T  D.,  124, 

P-  75- 

60  140.     hemp-seed  :  '  Steal  out  unperceived  and  sow  a  handful  of 

hemp-seed,  harrowing  it  with  anything  you  can  conveniently  draw  after 
you.  Repeat  now  and  then,  "  Hemp-seed,  I  saw  thee  :  and  him  (her) 
that  is  to  be  my  true  love,  come  after  me  an'  pou  thee."  Look  over 
your  left  shoulder  and  you  will  see  the  appearance  of  the  person  invoked 
in  the  attitude  of  pulling  hemp.'  —  B. 

60  163.     Lord  Lennox'  march  :  cf.  Tai>i  o'  Skanter,  84,  — 

'  Whiles  croonin  owre  some  auld  Scots  sonnet.' 

61  181.  barn  gaen :  'barn'  has  two  syll. ;  for  'w^ad  gaen,'  see 
Gram.  Introd. 


200  N-OTES. 

61  182.  three  wechts  o'  naething :  see  Vocab.  'wecht'  'This 
charm  must  likewise  be  performed  unperceived  and  alone.  You  go  to 
the  barn  and  open  both  doors,  taking  them  off  their  hinges  if  possi- 
ble. .  .  .  Then  take  a  "  wecht,"  and  go  through  all  the  attitudes  of  let- 
ting down  corn  against  the  wind.  Repeat  it  three  times,  and  the  third 
time  an  apparition  will  pass  through  the  barn,  in  at  the  windy  door 
and  out  at  the  other,  having  the  figure  in  question.'  —  B. 

61  192.  on  Sawnie  gies  a  ca'  :  Sandy  is  the  herd  of  1.  185.  Note  the 
stroke  of  truth  :  Meg  is  about  to  trust  herself  to  supernatural  powers, 
and  the  call  to  Sandy  is  a  kind  of  link  with  the  natural  world. 

61  201.  faddom't  thrice  :  'Take  an  opportunity  of  going  unnoticed 
to  a  "  bear-stack,"  and  fathom  it  thrice  round.  The  last  fathom  of  the 
last  time  you  will  catch  in  your  arms  the  appearance  of  your  future  con- 
jugal yoke-fellow.'  —  B.  Fathoming  is  measuring  round  with  the  arms 
at  full  stretch.  The  others  had  promised  Will  a  '  braw  ane,'  i.e.,  a  fine- 
looking  lass. 

61  202.  timmer-propt  for  thrawin  :  the  stack  had  timbers  set  against 
it  in  case  of  its  twisting  as  it  settled. 

62  211.     settlin  :  quieting  ;  the  friskiness  was  taken  out  of  her. 

62  214.  three  lairds'  lands  met :  '  You  go  out,  one  or  more  (for 
this  is  a  social  spell),  to  a  south  running  spring  or  rivulet  where  three 
lairds'  lands  meet,  and  dip  your  left  shirt-sleeve.  Go  to  bed  in  sight  of 
a  fire,  and  hang  your  wet  sleeve  before  it  to  dry.  Lie  awake,  and  some 
time  near  midnight  an  apparition  having  the  exact  figure  of  the  grand 
object  in  question  will  come  and  turn  the  sleeve  as  if  to  dry  the  other 
side.'— i9. 

62  217-225.  Often  quoted  as  an  unequalled  piece  of  condensed  de- 
scription. 

62  228.  The  deil:  as  in  To  the  D.,  41,  47,  p.  18;  the  deil  has  the 
preference. 

63  236.  luggies  three :  '  Take  three  dishes,  put  clean  water  in  one, 
foul  water  in  another,  and  leave  the  third  empty :  blindfold  a  person 
and  lead  him  to  the  hearth  where  the  dishes  are  ranged  :  he  dips  his 
hand,  — Lf  in  the  first,  he  will  marry  a  maid  ;  if  in  the  second,  a  widow  ; 
the  third  foretells  no  marriage  at  all.  It  is  repeated  three  times,  and 
each  time  the  arrangement  of  the  dishes  is  altered.'  —  B. 

63  240.     Mar's-year  :  seel.  127,  note. 

63  248.  butter'd  so'ns :  '  Sowens  with  butter  instead  of  milk  to 
them  is  always  the  Halloween  supper.'  —  B 


NOTES.  201 

SCOTCH    DRINK    (composed   probably    about    the   festive  time  of 
Yule  and  the  New  Year,  17S5-86). 

The  poem  is  a  development  of  the  stanza  of  the  Holy  Fair,  begin- 
ning '  Leeze  me  on  Drink!'  (11.  163-171)  and  contains  other  echoes 
from  the  same  source.  For  the  earlier  date  of  H.  F.,  see  that  poem, 
notes. 

This  poem  is  an  offset  to  Fergusson's  Caller  Wafer,  and  the  two  run 
on  parallel  lines.  Burns  reverts  to  this  subject  so  frequently,  and  with 
such  gusto,  that  a  word  in  general  may  here  be  set  down.  In  Scotland, 
as  in  other  European  countries  during  the  last  century,  ale,  whisky, 
wine,  etc.,  were  not  only  universal  accessories  to  social  enjoyment,  but 
recognized  essentials  of  ordinary  hospitality.  To  get  drunk  in  com- 
pany was  a  venial  offence,  and  among  the  higher  and  even  professional 
classes  was  a  fashionable  peccadillo.  Scotch  butlers  took  it  as  a  sign 
of  coming  degeneracy  when  '  gentlemen '  were  able  to  go  to  bed  with- 
out assistance.  This  explains  the  poet's  light  and  humorous  handling 
of  the  subject.  He  himself  was  no  ascetic,  and  before  he  died  he  had 
drunk  many  a  glass  more  than  was  good  for  him ;  but  only  ignorance 
can  find  the  inspiration  of  his  genius  in  liberal  Scotch  drink.  Of 
jjoems  written  before  this  date  he  has  drawn  pleasantry  from  the  sub- 
ject in  D.  Dr.  H.,  To  the  D.,  Ep.  to  L.  (i),  H.  F.,  J.  B.,  H.  IV.  Pr.,  and 
others.  But  Gilbert  Burns  testifies  that  during  the  whole  Lochlea 
period  (1777-84)  he  never  saw  his  brother  intoxicated,  'nor  was  he 
at  all  given  to  drinking.'  Burns  himself  speaks  of  scenes  of  '  riot  and 
debauchery';  but  the  fact  that  up  to  the  publication  of  his  book  his 
expenses  never  exceeded  his  annual  income  of  £1,  or  $35,  puts  any 
degree  of  revelry  in  liquor  out  of  the  question.  Burns  was  not  a  hard 
drinker  until  he  went  to  Dumfries;  even  then  he  was  not  what  one 
would  term  a  drunkard  ;  and  before  that  his  drinking  was  probably  less 
than  that  of  the  average  Scotsman  of  his  day. 

63  1.     The  fourth  stanza  of  Fergusson's  Caller  Water  begins 

'  The  fuddlin  bardies  now-a-days 
Rin  maukin-mad  in  Bacchus  praise.' 

64  6.      glass  or  jug  :  i.e.,  whisky  or  ale.     So  in  11.  8-10. 

64  17.  John  Barleycorn  :  barley  is  almost  the  only  grain  used  in 
Scotland  for  brewing  and  distilling. 

64  20.  souple  scones  :  barley-meal  scones,  baked  without  yeast,  and 
therefore  thin  and  pliant. 

64  22.     kail  an'  beef :  i.e.,  Scotch  broth. 


202  NOTES. 

64  23.     strong  heart's  blood  :   'barley-bree,'  esp.  whisky. 

64  31.  doited  Lear:  cf.  'It  waukens  Lear'  {H.  F.,  165,  p.  41). 
'  Lear,'  '  Care,'  etc.,  are  eighteenth-century  personifications :  see  Gen. 
Introd.,  p.  xli  and  note  i. 

65  37.  siller  weed  :  arrayed  in  silver;  i.e.,  served  in  silver  tankards  at 
the  tables  of  the  gentry. 

65  41.  drap  parritch:  porridge  and  small  ale,  the  'penny-wheep  ' 
of  H.  F.,  was  a  regular  poor  man's  dish.  Carlyle  well  notices  this 
poetic  interpretation  of  '  the  poor  man's  wine.'  Drap,  because  porridge 
is  'poured'  into  the  dishes  in  Scotland. 

65  45.     meetings  0'  the  saunts  :  assemblages  like  the  Holy  Fair. 

65  47,  48.  besiege  the  tents  :  '  crowd  open-mouthed  round  the  out- 
door pulpits.'  Cf.  H.  F,  102,  107,  p.  39.  Doubly:  i.e.,  both  by  the 
•  Cantharidian  plaisters '  and  by  the  'jars  an'  barrels'  (J/.  F,  116,  126). 

65  49.     corn  in:  see  Vocab.,  A'lr/i  2  ;  I/.,  133,  p.  59  ;  and  T.  D.,  124, 

P-75- 

65  51.     New- Year  mornin  :  the  same  custom  is  described  in  T.  D., 

129-138,  p.  75.  It  used  to  be  customary,  and  is  still  common,  in  Scot- 
land to  '  handsel '  the  new  year  with  potations  of  whisky.  The  cus- 
tom of  '  first-footing  '  is  not  yet  extinct.  The  luck  for  the  year  is  sup- 
posed to  depend  on  the  first  who  enters  across  the  threshold.  Friends, 
accordingly,  start  soon  after  midnight  to  first-foot  each  other  with  a  full 
hand  and  a  good  wish.  Large  quantities  of  cheese  and  whisky  are 
consumed. 

65  53.     sp' ritual  burn  in  :  'ardent  spirits  therein.' 

65  55.  Vulcan  :  the  blacksmith,  '  Burnewin  '  (1.  60).  The  smithy  is 
also  the  place  where  Tam  o'  Shanter  gets  '  roarin  fou '  every  time  he 
gets  the  mare  shod. 

65  62.  ploughman  :  it  is  still  the  custom  of  the  plowmen,  when  they 
go  to  the  smithy  with  their  plow-irons,  to  give  the  blacksmith  a  'chaup ' 
(i.e.,  swing  the  sledge  for  him). 

66  90.  warst  faes  :  Burns  here  assumes  the  English  attitude  towards 
the  French  :  all  the  traditions  of  Scotland  from  Malcolm  Canmore 
down  had  been  those  of  friendship  with  France. 

67  96.     Four  stanzas  are  omitted  here. 


MARE   MAGGIE    (1786,  January). 

This  is  the  John  Anderson,  my  jo,  of  Burns's  poems.  It  portrays  a 
long  and  tried  friendship  and  those  relations  of  human  intimacy  that 
are  common  between  the  country  people  of  Scotland  and  their  domes- 


i 


NOTES.  203 

tic  animals,  and  is  lightened  up  by  a  glow  of  autobiographic  reminis- 
cence. Burns  had  a  favorite  mare  which  he  named  Jenny  Geddes,  his 
companion  in  many  adventures,  and  his  description  of  her,  besides 
illustrating  this  poem,  furnishes  a  good  example  of  his  Scotch  prose:  — 

'  My  auld  ga'd  gleyde  o'  a  meere  has  huchyall'd  up  hill  and  down  brae,  in  Scot- 
land and  England,  as  teugh  and  birnie  as  a  vera  devil  wi'  me.  It 's  true  she  's  as 
poor  as  a  sangmaker  and  as  hard  "s  a  kirk,  and  tippertaipers  when  she  taks  the 
gate  like  a  hen  on  a  het  girdle,  but  she  's  a  yauld  poutherie  girran  for  a'  that.  .  .  . 
When  ance  her  ring-banes  and  spavies,  her  cruicks  and  cramps,  are  fairly  soupled, 
she  beets  to,  beets  to,  and  aye  the  hindmost  hour  the  tightest.  I  could  wager  her 
price  to  a  thretty  pennies  that  for  twa  or  three  wooks  ridin  at  fifty  mile  a  day 
the  deil-sticket  a  five  gallopers  acqueesh  Clyde  &  Whithorn  could  cast  saut  upon 
her  tail.'  —  Letter  to  IV.  Nii/wl,  Jittic  /,  i-jS"]. 

67  11.     should  been  tight:   'had  need   to  be  girt  for  action.'     For 
should  been,'  see  Gram.  Introd.     Tread  (1.  i6)  is  past  tense. 

68  21.  o'  tocher  clear  :  his  wife  brought  Maggie  and  fifty  marks  as 
dowry.     Fifty  marks  (Eng.  money)  would  be  about  $165. 

68  2;i.     weel  won  :  '  earned  by  honest  toil.' 

68  35.  Kyle-Stewart :  the  northern  division  of  Central  Ayrshire, 
between  the  Irvine  and  the  Ayr,  in  which  Mossgiel  lay;  in  the  south- 
"ern  division.  King  Kyle,  Burns  was  born. 

68  44.     stable  meals  :  horse  feed  was  poor  at  the  fair. 

69  47.     Toun's  bodies  :  said  with  a  countryman's  commiseration. 
69  h'A.     ev'ry  tail :  humorously  for  '  every  head.' 

69  57.     Scotch  mile  :  long  miles,  commonly  called  '  hielant  miles.' 
69  6.3.     aught  hours'  gaun  :  eight  hours'  going.    Say  rood^  \\  acre. 

69  67-72.  '  Thou  didst  never  fret,  or  plunge  and  kick,  but  thou  wouldst 
have  whisked  thy  old  tail,  and  spread  abroad  thy  large  chest  with  pith 
and  power,  till  hillocks,  where  the  earth  was  full  of  tough-rooted  plants, 
would  have  given  forth  a  crackling  sound  and  the  clods  fallen  gently 
over.'  —  Shairp. 

70  75.  a  wee-bit  heap  aboon :  '  filled  her  wooden  measure  of  oats 
rather  above  the  brim.'  He  knew  she  would  be  hard  put  to  it  with  the 
spring  work  ere  summer  came  with  rest.  For  that :  '  on  account  of  the 
late  season.' 

70  85.     pleugh  :  plowing  team  of  four  horses. 

70  89.  thretteen  pund  an'  twa  :  fifteen  pounds  sterling.  Not  Scots 
money,  which  would  only  be  six  dollars.     Cf.  1.  21,  note. 

70  100.  For  my  last  fou  :  for  is  a  conjunction,  and  fou  a  substantive 
in  apposition  to  ane.     See  Gram.  Introd. 


204  NOTES. 


This  stanza  ought  to  be  enough  to  explode  the  derivation  of  stini- 
part  from  hidtieme  part ;  no  farmer  would  feed  an  old  mare  with  a 
'  heaped  half-peck  '  of  oats  at  a  time.     See  Vocab.,  stimpart. 


THE    TWA    DOGS    (1786,  some  time  before  February  17). 

In  a  letter  of  this  date  he  refers  to  it  as  'finished.'  He  had  'nearly 
taken '  his  resolution  to  go  into  print,  and  this  poem  was  composed 
partly  with  that  resolution  in  mind.  He  indicated  his  estimation  of  its 
importance  by  placing  it  first  in  the  Kilmarnock  edition. 

The  poem  originated  in  a  desire  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of 
a  favorite  dog,  Luath,  that  had  been  wantonly  killed.  But  this 
idea  grew  into  the  tale  of  the  two  dogs,  hi  which  with  an  inimitable 
blending  of  canine  humor  and  human  seriousness  the  social  circum- 
stances of  the  peasant-farmer  are  shown  forth  in  clear  relief  against 
the  upper  landed  proprietary,  —  a  tale  in  which  homily  rises  to 
poetry.  In  its  account  of  the  Cotter's  life  the  poem  is  a  companion 
picture  to  C.  S.  N.,  but  it  is  not  a  sermon  on  rustic  contentment. 
Caesar  is  an  invention  introduced  as  a  foil  to  Luath,  and  it  is  to  be 
observed  that  the  peasant  dog  has  a  fairly  favorable  estimate  of 
the  laird  class ;  it  is  Csesar  who  is  better  informed  and  brings 
disillusion. 

71  2.  King  Coil :  see  A.  M.  M.,  35,  note.  This  poem,  like  Hal- 
loween, takes  us  back  to  the  Mount  Oliphant  days.  The  district  is  said 
to  have  taken  its  name  from  Coilus,  a  Pictish  king. 

71  12.  cod  :  Csesar  was  a  Newfoundland  dog.  His  freedom  from 
pride  is  at  once  the  result  of  his  being  a  good  dog  and  the  cause  of  his 
being  a  severe  critic  of  the  class  to  which  he  belongs.  In  his  letter  to 
Dr.  Moore  (Aug.  2,  1787),  Burns  speaks  of  his  boyish  friendship  with 
social  superiors  and  their  kindness  to  him,  adding,  'It  takes  a  few 
dashes  into  the  world  to  give  the  young  Great  man  that  proper,  decent, 
unnoticing  disregard  for  the  poor,  insignificant,  stupid  peasantry.' 

71  21.     stan't :  '  have  stood.' 

72  24.     rantin,  ravin  :  an  echo  of  the  song  Rantin,  Rovin  Robin. 

72  26.  Luath:  named  after  '  CuchuUin's  dog  in  Ossian's  Fingal.'' 
—  B. 

72  37.  Nae  doubt :  observe  the  implied  sarcasm  on  the  '  lords  of 
creation'  and  their  relations.     For  the  study  of  animal  life,  cf.  A.  M.  M. 


NOTES.       \  205 

72  51.  racket  rents :  a  rtcollectiou  of  the  '  ruinous  bargain '  of 
Mount  Oliphant. 

73  58.     Geordie  :  golden  guineas  bearing  King  George's  head. 

73  65.  whipper-in :  lUirns's  hatred  of  fox-hunting  here  shows  itself 
as  contempt  for  the  liuntsman,  —  '  worthless  elf,'  'it.' 

73  7]  ff.  In  this  bitterly  realistic  picture  of  the  cotter's  life,  Luath 
can  scarcely  be  regarded  as  preaching  the  contentment  he  closes  with; 
and  Burns  was  no  cynic. 

73  78.  thack  and  rape  :  metaphor  here  for  '  the  necessaries  of  life  '; 
for  a  literal  use  of  the  term,  see  B.  A.,  2,  p.  109,  and  note. 

74  93.  court-day :  the  day  on  which  the  tenants  have  to  go  to  the 
factor's  office  with  their  rents ;  if  they  fail,  the  sequel  is  apt  to  be  as 
described  in  the  lines  that  follow-. 

74  96.  factor  :  landlord's  agent.  '  We  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  factor 
who  sat  for  the  picture  1  have  drawn  of  one  in  my  Tale  of  the  7'wa 
Dogs  .  .  .  My  indignation  yet  boils  at  the  scoundrel  factor's  insolent, 
threatening  letters  which  used  to  set  us  all  in  tears.' — B.  (Letter  to 
Dr.  Moore.) 

74  102.     wretches:  '  wretched  beings.' 

74  105-6.  This  confession  is  so  grim  that  it  makes  Luath  appear 
almost  as  a  foil  to  Csesar  rather  than  conversely. 

75  111  ff.  Few  have  spoken  so  feelingly  of  domestic  joys  as  Burns; 
cf.  Ep.  D.  B.,  52-54,  p.  141,  and  elsewhere. 

75  115.  twalpennie  worth  :  =  a  Scots  pint ;  but  Scots  pints  were  four 
times  as  large  as  luiglish  pints,  and  a  Scots  penny  was  only  a  twelfth 
of  an  P'nglish  one. 

75  118.  Kirk  and  State:  until  the  year  1874  the  clergy  of  the 
Church  of  Scotland  were  appointed  by  '  patrons  '  of  the  various  livings. 
Patronage  was  much  discussed  in  Burns's  time,  and  ultimately  caused 
the  Disruption  of  1843,  when  a  section  of  the  church  decided  to  'gie 
the  brutes  themsel  the  power  to  choose  their  lierds  '  (7!  //.,  89,  90),  a 
privilege  which  since  1874  has  been  universal. 

75  123.     Hallowmas  .  .  .  kirns :  cf.  Sc.  Dr.,  49,  note. 

75  129.    the  year  begins:  cf.  Sc.  Dr.,  51,  note. 

76  144.  rascal:  this  is  the  factor  once  more;  the  'gentle  (i.e.,  of 
gentle  birth)  master'  is  the  laird,  who  does  not  rack  the  tenants  except 
through  the  factor.  Luath's  guilelessness  is  a  trifle  overdone  here  to 
give  Csesar  a  good  cue. 

76  \^l.     tour  :  those  were  still  the  days  of  the  '  grand  tour.' 
76  160.     entails:  entail  is  the  law  by  which  property,  especially  real 
estate,  passes  to  the  next  male  heir,  and  is  thus  preserved  intact.     It 


206  NOTES. 

cannot  be  sold  except  by  breaking  the  entail,  and  for  this  an  act  of 
Parliament  is  required.  Nearly  all  landed  property  in  Britain  is  en 
tailed. 

76  162.  nowt :  again  the  contempt  for  sports  that  mean  suffering 
to  dumb  animals ;  cf.  1.  65.  The  word  '  nowt '  takes  all  the  romance 
from  bull-fighting. 

76  165.  drumly  German-water  :  the  German  spas  were  coming  into 
vogue. 

77  175.  frae  courts :  for  similar  ingenuousness,  cf.  the  reference  to 
'kings'  palaces'  in  Luke,  vii.  25;  cf.  also  Ramsay,  The  Vision,  317,: — 

'  Syne  wallopt  to  tar  courts  and  bleizt 
Till  riggs  and  shaws  were  spent.' 

77  180.     Fient  haet:  for  this  defence,  cf.  1.  144,  note. 
77  183.     hare  ormoor-cock  :  referring  to  violation  of  the  game  laws, 
a  crime  more  severely  punished  in  Scotland  than  wife-beating. 
77  195.     bodies:  'folk,' 'people.' 

77  196.     their  colleges  :  cf.  Ep.  J.  L.,  61-72,  p.  29,  and  note. 

78  203.     girl:     two  syllables  on  account  of  rolled  r. 

78  204.  dizzens :  '  dozens '  of  hanks  of  thread  to  be  wound  for 
weaving. 

78  215.     cast  out :  'quarrel,'  '  mak  a  pley.' 

78  216.     sowther  a':  'cement  the  whole,'  '  make  it  all  up.' 

78  222.     run  :  '  out-and-out,'  '  thorough-paced.' 

78  226.     devil's  pictur'd  beuks  :  Puritanic  name  for  cards. 

78  227.     stackyard  :  i.e.,  the  value  of  a  whole  year's  crop. 

78  230.  this  is,  etc.:  Burns  had  small  means  of  knowing  the  life  he 
so  confidently  portrayed;  but  his  account  represents  the  current  belief 
of  the  rural  population. 


EPISTLE   TO    JAMES    SMITH    (1786,  early  in  the  year). 

Just  before  this  Burns  had  returned  to  two  subjects  which  he  had  simul- 
taneously treated  before,  —  Scotch  Drink  and  Scotch  Religion,  —  and 
written  The  Author's  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer,  and  The  Ordination. 
Both  are  poems  of  extraordinary  vivacity  and  vigor,  but  have  a  dash  of 
hardness,  the  one  political,  the  other  theological.  Here  the  poet 
mellows  to  the  touch  of  friendship. 

James  Smith,  a  shop-keeper  of  Mauchline,  was  '  a  person  of  ready 
wit    and   lively  manners,  and    much    respected   by    the   poet.'     When 


NOTES.  IVl 

trouble  with  the  Armour  family  was  gathering  round  him,  Burns  wrote 
(February  17):  'I  am  extremely  happy  with  Smith;  he  is  the  only  friend 
1  now  have  in  Mauchline.'  This  is  the  mood  in  which  the  poet  has 
written  one  of  the  finest  of  all  familiar  epistles,  whether  prose  or  verse. 
He  has  a  happy  impulse,  his  '  barmie  noddle  's  workin  prime,'  and  the 
bright  movements  of  his  fancy  as  he  plays  with  wisdom  are  reflected  in 
the  easy  ripple  of  the  verse.  The  poem  is  especially  rich  in  interest  of 
more  than  the  merely  biographical  kind. 

80  30.  for  fun :  this  is  no  mere  affectation ;  it  represents  one  of  his 
moods  in  which  riming  seemed  merely  an  idle  pastime.  Cf.  Ep.J.  L., 
49-54,  p.  28;  but  see  below,  and  also  next  poem. 

80  36.     countra  wit :  cf.  1.  137,  and  Ep.J.  L.,  73,  p.  29. 

80  37.  This  while :  the  confidence  in  his  own  abilities  which  this 
step  indicates  is  frankly  stated  in  the  preface  to  the  Kilmarnock  edition, 
qualified  by  the  same  diffidence  we  find  here. 

80  40.  cries  Hoolie  :  cf.  '  Now  that  he  appears  in  the  public  character 
of  an  author,  he  does  it  with  fear  and  trembling.'  —  Pre/.  Kilm.  Ed. 

80  44.  Greek :  represented  to  Burns  the  acme  of  college  learning 
and  culture;  cf.  Ep.  J.  L.,  71-72,  p.  29, — 

'  climb  Parnassus  by  dint  o'  Greek.' 

.81  52.  whistlin :  may  refer  to  the  plowman's  habit  of  whistling  at 
his  work  ;  or  it  may  be  used  figuratively  =  'bustling.' 

82  1^.  joyless  Eild  :  in  one  of  his  characters  Burns  was  prematurely 
old,  just  as  in  another  he  was  always  a  boy.  Here  he  seems  to  dread 
old  age.     Cf.  The  Winter  of  Age,  notes. 

82  89.  expected  warning:  the  call  'Minutes,'  signal  for  the  fore- 
noon recess  of  a  few  minutes  for  play  about  11  o'clock. 

83  117.  Luna  :  cf.  Terra  (1.  123).  Burns's  Latin  u,sed  to  be  a  stand- 
ing joke  in  the  family,  but  he  took  pride  in  it  next  to  his  French.  He 
knew,  however,  '  small  [French]  and  less  [Latin].' 

83  126.     rowth  0'  rhymes  :  in  Sc.  Dr.  he  had  stipulated 

'  Hale  breaks,  a  scone  an'  whisky  gill. 
An'  rowth  o'  rhymes  to  rave  at  will.' 

Here  Re  leaves  whisky  to  the  'cairds'  (1.  131). 

83  133.     Dempster  :  a  patriotic  Scotsman  and  member  of  Parliament. 

83  134.  Pitt :  Pitt  the  younger,  then  Prime  Minister,  who  is  fre- 
quently complimented  by  Burns;  cf.  A  ]")reavi,  SS-S''^.  P-  I03-  At  a 
late  hour  he  recognized  the  similarity  of  the  genius  of  Burns  to  that  of 
Shakspere. 


208  NOTES. 

84  137.  wit :  last  century  use  of  the  word,  more  akin  to  '  good 
sense.'  A  person  of  '  little  wit '  in  Scotch  is  a  foolish  person,  not  a  dull 
one  ;  add  polish,  and  you  have  the  '  wit '  of  Pope. 

84  145.     throws  :  see  Gram.  Introd. 

84  163-8.  This  stanza  is  an  anticipation  of  the  Address  to  the  Unco 
Guid.     The  poems  touch  at  other  points. 


THE    VISION    (1786,  about  the  same  time  as  the  preceding). 

The  opening  lines  need  not  be  questioned.  This  poem  bears  a  very 
close  relation  to  Ep.  J.  S.  Its  subject  is  that  which  gives  its  personal 
interest  to  the  earlier  epistle,  —  his  plans,  prospects,  poetry,  capabilities. 
There  he  plays  over  the  subject  with  humorous  and  familiar  fancy ; 
here  he  settles  down  to  a  serious  estimate  of  himself  as  a  poet.  The 
humor  disappears,  and  the  fancy  warms  to  a  glow  of  passion.  The  diffi- 
dence, too,  which  still  pursues  him,  melts  away  as  he  accepts  the  con- 
secration of  his  life  and  genius. 

Here,  again,  Burns  drew  from  Ramsay,  in  whose  poem  The  Vision  a 
specter  similarly  appears  to  the  poet,  clad  in  a  '  rainbow-colourt  plaid,' 
and  utters  words  of  ardent  patriotism.  But,  as  in  every  case,  what  he 
borrows  is  the  merest  trifle  to  what  he  brings. 

Duan:  'a  term  of  Ossian's  for  the  different  divisions  of  a  digressive 
poem;  see  his  Cath-loda.^  —  B. 

85  2.  roaring:  the  'roaring  game'  is  named  both  from  the  noise 
made  by  the  stones  on  the  ice,  and  from  the  boisterousness  of  the 
players. 

85  7.  flingin-tree  :  there  were  no  threshing-mills  in  those  days ;  all 
grain  was  threshed  with  the  flail.     Cf.  G.  W.  H.,  3. 

86  20.     I  backward  mus'd:  cf.  To  a  Mouse,  \z^, — 

'  I  backward  cast  an  ee 
On  prospects  drear.' 

86  23.     strlngin  blethers  :  cf.  Ep.J.  S.,  30,  and  note, — 

'  I  rhyme  for  fun.'  ^ 

86  25.  harket :  for  the  worldly  wisdom  to  which  he  did  not  harken, 
see  Ep.  V.  E?:,  49-56,  p.  100. 

87  55.  hair-brain'd  sentimental  trace :  this  and  the  '  wildly-witty 
air'  would,  according  to  Arnold,  be  of  Celtic  origin;  the  Duans  and  the 
tartan  robe  (1.  61)  give  the  same  indication. 


NOTES.  209 

87  63.  Jean.  So  it  was  originally  written,  but  when  the  poems  were 
already  in  press  he  changed  it  to  'my  Bess,  I  ween,'  on  account  of  his 
trouble  with  the  Armours.     In  1787  'my  bonie  Jean'  was  restored. 

87  72.     well  known  land  :  Ayrshire,  or,  more  strictly,  Kyle. 

88  86.  an  ancient  borough :  the  charter  of  Ayr  is  probably  the 
oldest  known;  it  was  granted  about  1200  by  William  the  Lion,  who 
made  the  town  a  royal  burgh  and  royal  residence. 

88  96.  Here  follow  seven  stanzas  celebrating  the  Wallaces,  first  in- 
troduced into  the  Edinburgh  edition.  Thirteen  more  stanzas  of  the 
first  Diui7i,  chiefly  panegyrical  of  patrons.  Burns  was  impulsive  enough 
to  write,  but  had  the  good  sense  to  keep  in  MS. 

88  133.     musing-deep  :  i.e.,  deep-musing. 

89  139.  inspired  bard :  his  confident  self-possession  here  is  in 
striking  contrast  with  the  hesitancy  of  Ep.J.  S.,  37  ff.,  p.  80. 

89-146.  aerial  band:  similarly,  the  spirit  of  Caledon,  in  Ramsay's 
Vision,  has  aerial  attendants. 

89  157.  Seven  stanzas  describing  the  ofiices  of  the  several  orders  of 
spirits  are  here  omitted. 

89  199.  Coila:  from  Coil.  See  T.  D.,  2,  p.  71,  and  R.R.R.,  i,p.  15. 
Burns  tells  us  he  took  the  idea  from  Scota,  the  muse  of  Alexander 
.Ross.     (See  Gen.  Introd,  p.  xxix,  n.  2.) 

89  209.  Fir'd  :  agrees  with  t/iee  contained  in  t/iy.  The  '  artless  lays ' 
are  those  of  the  Song  Collection,  hi.s  vade  mccum  at  Mount  Oliphant, 
and  the  version  of  Blind  Harry's  Wallace  by  Hamilton  {Ep.  W.  S.,  15 
and  58,  notes). 

90  211.  shore:  if  Burns  did  this,  it  is  strange  that  the  sea  should 
occupy  so  insignificant  a  place  in  his  poetry.  (See  Gen.  Introd.,  pp. 
liii-liv.) 

90  215.  grim  Nature  :  see  Ep.  W.  S.,  73,  p.  34,  and  Gen.  Introd.,  p. 
liii  ff. 

90  234.  soothe  thy  flame  :  '  My  passions  raged  like  so  many  devils 
till  they  got  vent  in  rhyme ;  and  then  conning  over  my  verses,  like  a 
spell,  soothed  all  into  quiet '  (Letter  to  Dr.  Moore).    Cf.  Ep.  IV.  S.,  30,  — 

'  It  gies  me  ease.' 

Tennyson  speaks  of  similar  relief  in  the  '  mechanic  exercise  '  of  verse,  — 
In  Memoriam^  v. 

90  233-246.  I  taught  .  .  .  friends  :  ref.  esp.  to  C.  S.  AL  Burns's 
fame  was  as  yet  only  local,  but  it  was  well  established.  MS.  copies  of 
his  poems  had  freely  circulated  and  won  him  friends  among  the  country 
gentry,  notably  Mrs.  Dunlop  and  Mrs.  Stewart  of  Stair. 


210  NOTES. 

91  247-252.  Of  pure  description,  like  that  of  Thomson,  Burns  has 
very  little.  Shenstone  was  an  early  favorite,  whose  '  bosom-melting ' 
powers  he  much  exaggerated.  Gray's  '  moving  flow '  is  that  of  the 
Elegy.     The  last  two  influences  affected  the  C.  S.  N.,  which  see. 

91  256.     army  :  branching,  many-armed. 

92  276.     Ramsay  is  more  specific,  — 

'  He  mountit  upwards  frae  my  sicht 
Straicht  to  the  Milky  Way.' 


TO   THE   UNCO   GUID    (1786,  soon  after  the  preceding). 

At  the  close  of  Ep.  J.  S.  there  is  a  hint  that  this  subject  was  occupy- 
ing his  mind.  He  was  now  approaching  a  crisis  of  those  misfortunes 
which,  as  he  says,  'let  us  ken  oursel';  and  this  poem  is  to  some  extent 
a  personal  plea.  But  the  same  reflections  had  passed  through  his  mind 
and  been  noted  long  before,  when  he  was  in  similar  distress : 

'  Let  any  of  the  strictest  character  for  regularity  of  conduct  among  us  examine 
impartially  how  many  of  his  virtues  are  owing  to  constitution  and  education  ; 
how  many  vices  he  has  never  been  guilty  of.  not  from  any  care  or  vigilance,  but 
from  want  of  opportunity  or  some  accidental  circumstance  intervening ;  how  many 
of  the  weaknesses  of  mankind  he  has  escaped  because  he  was  out  of  the  line  of 
such  temptation ;  and  what  often,  if  not  always,  weighs  more  than  all  the  rest, 
how  much  he  is  indebted  to  the  world's  good  opinion  because  the  world  does  not 
know  all :  I  say  any  man  who  can  thus  think,  will  scan  the  failings,  nay,  the 
faults  and  crimes  of  mankind  around  him  with  a  brother's  eye.'  —  Comm.  PL  Bk., 
March,  1784. 

The  poem,  no  less  remarkable  for  its  penetration  than  for  its  kindli- 
ness, is  at  once  a  plea  for  the  ethical  right  and  a  condemnation  of  the 
Pharisaism  which  turns  goodness  into  the  '  righteousness  over  much ' 
of  the  Unco  Guid. 

The  fact  that  it  had  such  a  distinct  personal  application  to  his  case 
at  this  time  may  have  induced  Burns  to  omit  the  poem  from  the  Kil- 
marnock edition.     It  first  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  edition. 

92  8.     plays  clatter  :  cf.  '  played  dirl,'  D.  and  Dr.  H.,  95,  note. 

92  10.     counsel:  advocate,  a  law  term.     So 'propone  defences,' 1.  14. 

93  21.  Discount :  see  introd.  note.  They  are  asked  to  discount,  not 
all  their  purity,  as  a  comma  after  '  gave '  would  imply,  but  as  much  of 
it  as  is  due  to  scanty  opportunity  :  '  what  scant  occasion,  and  your  better 
art  of  hiding,  gave  to  that  purity,'  etc. 


i 


I 


NOTES.  211 

93  39.  your  .  .  .  hell :  these  people  are  as  narrow  in  pocket  as  in 
mind,  and  dread  of  expense  is  often  a  more  powerful  deterrent  than 
dread  of  '  the  eternal  consequences.' 

94  48.  nae  temptation  :  possessed  of  few  attractions,  hence  unlikely 
either  to  tempt  or  be  tempted. 

94  49.  Then  gently  scan,  etc.:  from  this  point  on  the  poem  has 
become  a  sheaf  of  familiar  quotations. 

Early  in  this  year  Burns  had  contracted  a  Scotch  marriage,  valid  in 
point  of  law,  with  Jean  Armour.  About  April  13,  her  parents,  furious 
at  her  connection  with  Burns,  made  her  surrender  the  writing,  and 
destroyed  it.  Burns  felt  himself  deserted  as  well  as  shamed.  He 
thought,  too,  that  he  foresaw  Jean  '  on  the  road  to  eternal  ruin.'  His 
distraction  broke  out  in  that  passionate  Lament,  which,  but  for  the 
circumstances,  would  be  ranked  beside  his  lines  to  the  memory  of 
Highland  Mary.  The  same  anguish  of  recollection  and  disappointment 
appears  in  this  song. 


SONG    COMPOSED    IN    SPRING    (17S6). 

From  its  chorus  it  has  also  been  named  ATenie's  Ee.  Burns  threw 
disguises  over  it.  He  adopted  a  chorus  entirely  out  of  keeping;  he 
appended  a  note  stating  that  the  chorus  was  '  part  of  a  song  composed 
by  a  gentleman  in  Edinburgh ' ;  and  he  reminded  us  that  Menie  is  for 
Marianne.  But  he  himself  was  the  '  gentleman  in  Edinburgh,*  and 
'  Menie  '  was  simply  Jeanie.  The  explanation  of  the  apparently  bizarre 
chorus  may  be  found  in  his  note  of  June  12  to  David  Brice:  *  What  she 
thinks  of  her  conduct  now  I  don't  know:  one  thing  I  do  know,  she  has 
viade  me  completely  tniseralile.  Never  man  loved,  or  rather  adored,  a 
woman  more  than  I  did  her;  and  to  confess  the  truth  .  .  .  I  do  still  love 
her  to  distraction.''     (The  italics  are  mine.) 

95   M.     tentie   seedsman:  'careful  sower';  'stalks'  aptly  describes 
the  measured  gait  of  the  plowman  sowing  by  hand. 
95  23-24.     A  reminiscence  of  Gray"s  Elegy,  — 

'  Brushing  with  hasty  step  the  dews  away.' 

See  letter  quoted  To  a  M.  D.,  31,  note. 

95  2.').  'tween  light  an'  dark  :  a  nice  touch  of  nature;  the  lark  raises 
his  first  song  before  daybreak.     Cf.  also  To  a  M.  D.,  7-12,  p.  96. 


212  NOTES. 


TO   A   MOUNTAIN    DAISY    (1786,  April). 

This  poem  was  originally  entitled  The  Gowan  ;  for  the  circumstances, 
cf.  To  a  Motcse.  In  estimating  the  originality  and  value  of  such  poems 
we  must  bear  in  mind  that  Burns  preceded  Wordsworth. 

96  2.     Thou  's  :  '  thou  has.'     See  Gram.  Introd. 

96  8.     The  bonie  lark  :  see  above,  Song  Composed  in  Spring,  25,  p.  95. 

97  31-54.  In  a  letter  to  John  Kennedy  (April  20),  in  which  he 
encloses  this  poem,  Burns  refers  to  these  sentiments  as  the  '  querulous 
feelings  of  a  heart  which,  as  the  elegantly  melting  Gray  says,  "  Melan- 
choly has  marked  for  her  own."  '  But  these  'sentiments'  are  far  more 
than  reflections  on  the  tragedy  of  human  life;  they  are  cries  of  anguish 
wrung  from  him  by  dire  fate.     See  preceding  song,  introd.  note. 

97  38.  luckless  starr'd :  Burns  moralized  magnificently,  but  when 
the  pinch  came,  he  often,  like  a  creature  of  emotion,  cursed  his  evil  star, 
and  then  his  excitable  temperament  charged  the  air  with  blackness,  e.g., 
below,  1.  50.  It  was  now,  too,  that  he  wrote  his  Stanzas  to  Ruin  and 
Ode  to  Despondency. 


TO   MARY    (1786,  May). 

His  farming  on  Mossgiel  being  a  failure.  Burns  resolved  to  try  his 
fortune  in  Jamaica.  At  the  same  time,  his  apparent  desertion  by  Jean 
Armour  and  the  fancied  annulment  of  his  marriage  '  cut  his  veins.' 
Both  ruin  and  disgrace  confronted  him,  and  he  felt  himself  '  nine  parts 
and  nine-tenths  out  of  ten  stark  staring  mad.'  Now  with  all  the  aban- 
don of  his  passionate  nature  he  threw  himself  into  that  love  of  his 
about  which  there  hung  so  much  secrecy  and  out  of  whose  secrecy  there 
developed  so  much  romance.  This  was  Highland  Mary,  whom  Burns's 
song  has  raised  to  a  consecrated  niche  beside  Dante's  Beatrice. 

Mary  Campbell  was  at  this  time  probably  a  nurserymaid  in  the 
family  of  Gavin  Hamilton.  She  had  not  been  there  long,  and  when 
Burns  speaks  of  a  '  pretty  long  reciprocal  attachment,'  his  words  must 
be  taken  as  we  take  his  other  statement,  that  this  is  a  song  of  his '  very 
early  years.'  An  earlier  date  for  the  Highland  Mary  episode  is  now 
known  to  be  wrong,  and,  strange  and  disappointing  as  it  may  seem, 
there  is  no  longer  doubt  that  the  episode  must  be  fitted  into  this  crucial 
period  of  the  poet's  life.  It  is  further  probable  that  it  was  as  brief  as 
it  was  rash. 


NOTES.  213 

The  story  of  their  romantic  parting  is  a  familiar  legend.  Prior  to 
Mary's  return  to  her  West  Highland  home  for  a  season,  the  lovers  met 
by  appointment  on  the  second  Sunday  of  May  and  spent  a  farewell  day 
together  on  the  banks  of  the  Ayr.  Burns  gave  Mary  a  Bible  in  two 
volumes  (now  kept  in  the  Ayr  mo.nument)  with  writing  and  masonic 
marks  in  each,  and  they  parted,  never  to  meet  again.  Five  months  later, 
October  20,  Mary  died  in  Greenock,  and  was  buried  there  in  the  West 
Kirkyard,  a  spot  neglected  for  all  but  her. 

.See  also  notes  on  To  Mary  in  Heave7i  and  Highland  Mary  ;  and,  for 
a  full  discussion,  see  Works,  I.  294-299  and  IV.  1 21-130. 


EPISTLE   TO   A    YOUNG    FRIEND    (1786,  May). 

This  unique  composition  is  addressed  to  a  son  of  Robert  Aiken,  the 
lawyer,  to  whom  Burns  dedicated  his  Cotter's  Saturday  Alight.  More 
'  sermon  '  than  '  sang,'  it  marks  a  revulsion  into  a  mood  of  dispassionate 
worldly  wisdom.  In  his  trouble  he  had  given  way  to  grief  and  despair, 
to  hot  self-reproach  and  bitter  scorn.  Now  he  arrays  his  experience  of 
the  world  and  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  to  point  the  way  to  that 
re.spectabihty  and  mundane  success  which  he  himself  had  failed  to  at- 
tain. Still,  the  epistle,  with  all  its  cold  prudence,  is  only  a  mood.  The 
same  mood  often  occurs  incidentally  ;  here  it  is  unique  by  being  sus- 
tained. It  reads,  too,  as  if  the  writer  were  advising  himself  rather  than 
some  one  else,  and  it  has  in  it  inter  alia  more  of  the  ordinary  '  canny 
Scot '  than  anything  else  he  has  written. 

99  25.     they :  repeated  in  '  their '  (next  line)  ;  see  Gram.  Introd. 

99  27-28.  end  .  .  .  answer :  '  answer  an  end  '  is  Scotch  for  '  serve  a 
purpose.' 

100  37-40.  These  lines  may  be  .simply  a  bit  of  the  common  worldly 
prudence  of  the  '  pawky '  Scot,  but  they  find  a  striking  parallel  in  Ches- 
terfield's Letters,  which  Burns  may  have  read.  '  Sly  '  has  no  mean  sense 
here  ;  it  is  simply  'shrewd  '  ;  cf.  Ep. /.  S.,  i, — 

'  Dear  Smith,  the  slee-est  pawkie  thief.' 

100  48.  Here  followed  a  stanza  which  Burns  tried  to  suppress.  It 
is  weak,  but  it  throws  interesting  light  on  the  state  of  his  mind: 


214  NOTES. 

'  If  ye  hae  made  a  step  aside, 
Some  hap  mistak  o'ertaen  ye, 
Yet  still  keep  up  a  decent  pride 
An  ne'er  o'er  far  demean  ye : 
Time  comes  wi'  kind  oblivious  shade 

An'  daily  darker  sets  it ; 
And  if  nae  mair  mistaks  are  made. 
The  warld  soon  forgets  it.' 

100  51.     wile  :  cf.  the  use  of  '  sly'  above,  1.  40. 
100  56.     independent :  see  Gen.  Introd.  pp.  Ixxvii-lxxviii. 
100  57-58.     This  couplet  has  become  proverbial  in  Scotland. 
100  61.     touches:  see  Gram.  Introd. 

100  6.^-68.     With  these  lines  cf.  C.  S.  N.  and  H.  F. 

101  80.  cf.  the  closing  lines  of  his  Coinvi.  PI.  Bk.,  —  'Let  my  pupil, 
as  he  tenders  his  own  peace,  keep  up  a  regular  warm  intercourse  with 
the  Deity.' 


A    DREAM    (1786,  June). 

'On  reading  in  the  public  papers  the  Laureate's  Ode,  with  other 
parade  of  June  4,  the  author  was  no  sooner  dropt  asleep  than  he  im- 
agined himself  transported  to  the  Birthday  Levee,  and  in  his  dreaming 
fancy  made  the  following  Address.'  —  B.  The  poet  laureate  in  17S6 
was  the  well-known  author  of  the  History  of  English  Poetry,  Thomas 
Warton,  the  opening  lines  of  whose  Ode  may  be  quoted  to  illustrate  by 
contrast  Burns's  frank  touch  of  reality,  — 

'  When  Freedom  nursed  her  native  fire 

In  ancient  Greece  and  ruled  the  lyre, 
Her  hands  disdainful  from  the  tyrant's  brow 

The  tinsel  gifts  of  flattery  tore, 
But  paid  to  guiltless  power  the  willing  vow 

And  to  the  throne  of  virtuous  kings,'  etc. 

The  Dream  is  not  a  sublime  production,  but  it  is  full  of  character. 
Even  the  easy  gallop  of  the  verse  contributes  to  the  brusquerie  of  the 
poem.  Mrs.  Dunlop  and  others  advised  him  to  omit  this  piece  from  the 
Edinburgh  edition,  as  it  contained  '  perilous  stuff.'  His  reply  was  char- 
acteristic :  — '  Poets,  much  my  superiors,  have  so  flattered  those  who 
possessed  the  adventitious  qualities  of  wealth  and  power,  that  I  am 
determined  to  flatter  no  created  being.     I  set  as  little  store  by  princes. 


NOTES.  215 

lords,  clergy,  critics,  etc.,  as  all  these  respective  gentry  by  my  hardship.' 
(^Letter  to  Mrs.  D.,  April  30,  1787.)  Yet  the  Dream  was  neither  written 
nor  printed  out  of  defiance,  and  its  perfect  good  nature  disarms  all 
offence.  Its  familiarity  is  disillusioning,  but  this  is  merely  the  frank 
raillery  and  plain  speech  of  one  to  whom  princes,  being  only  human 
beings,  are  not  above  a  word  of  honest  sense. 

The  peculiar  verse,  which  is  a  sort  of  double  four-in-hand  after  the 
pattern  of  Ramsay's  Edinburgh's  Salutation  to  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon, 
helps  to  give  rapidity  to  the  movement.  Burns  did  not  publish  this 
poem.     It  first  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  Magazine  for  February,  18 18. 

101  4.     wishes  :  usually  pronounced  as  here,  '  wisses.' 

102  14.  a  venal  gang:  those  were  still  the  days  of  'patrons,' and 
flattering  addresses  and  dedications. 

102  26.     aiblins  ane  :  a  '  canny  '  way  of  saying  '  not  a  few.' 

102  33.  reft  an'  clouted :  '  the  British  Empire  is  much  torn  and 
patched  ;  since  the  loss  of  the  American  Colonies  a  piece  of  twine  one- 
third  as  long  will  go  round  the  parcel.' 

103  43.  chaps :  like  Lord  North  and  the  Duke  of  Grafton.  Yon 
day  refers  to  the  origin  of  the  trouble  with  America. 

,    103  46.     peace:  Treaty  of  Paris,  September,  1783. 

103  50.  For  me :  a  grim  allusion  to  his  hopeless  circumstances. 
'  Thank  God,  death  will  soon  come  to  save  me  from  beggary.'  Cf.  his 
humorous  anticipation  of  beggary,  Ep.  D.,  29-56,  p.  11. 

103  55.     Willie  Pitt :  see  Ep.J.  S.,  134,  p.  83. 

103  62.  barges :  ref.  to  a  recent  discussion  in  Parliament  over  sup- 
plies for  the  navy,  in  which  reductions  were  proposed  to  curtail  expenses. 
England  was  even  then  '  Mistress  of  the  Seas.' 

104  82.  Potentate  0'  Wales  :  Prince  of  Wales,  afterwards  George 
IV,  for  whom  see  Thackeray's  Eour  Georges. 

104  89.  rattl'd  dicewi'  Charlie  :  Charles  James  Fox,  the  statesman, 
whom  Burns  had  already  stigmatized  in  his  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer : 

'  Yon  ill-tongued  tinkler,  Charlie  Fox, 
May  taunt  you  wi'  his  jeers  an'  knocks ; 
But  gie  him 't  het,  my  hearty  cocks ! 

E'en  cowe  the  cadie ! 
An'  send  him  to  his  dicin  box 
An'  sportin  lady.' 

104  95.  him  at  Agincourt :  141 5;  Henry  V,  formerly  the  wild 
« prince  Hal '  who  held  revels  in  Eastcheap  with  Falstaff  ('  funny  queer 
Sir  John  ') ;  see  Shakspere's  Henry  IV. 


216  NOTES. 

105  100.  Osnaburg :  Frederick,  first  a  Bishop  and  afterwards  Duke 
of  York. 

105  109.  Tarry  Breaks :  Prince  William  Henry,  afterwards  King 
William  IV.  who  was  in  the  navy.  In  his  youth  he  married  Mrs. 
Jordan,  an  actress. 

105  124.     sma'  :  either  ♦  of  small  account,'  or  '  petty  princelings.' 

105  130.  bitter  sautet ;  Allan  Cunningham  discovered  prophecy  in 
this,  referring  to  the  malady  of  the  King's  last  years. 

106  131-135.  I  have  seen  petted  children  sulk  over  a  full  dish,  who 
were  by  and  by  glad  t(?  scrape  it  out  clean. 


ON   A    SCOTCH    BARD    (1786,  June). 

Burns's  early  departure  for  the  Indies  was  now  decided  upon,  and  he  had 
begun  to  bid  his  farewells.  This  one  is  conspicuous  for  its  playfulness, 
though  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  '  shine  out  cheerfully.'  He  laughs,  but 
there  is  a  dash  of  bitterness  in  the  laughter.  The  gaiety  is  rendered  all 
the  more  effective  by  an  undertone  of  seriousness,  and  by  a  sadness 
that  he  only  makes  believe  to  laugh  away. 

106  2.     crambo-clink  :  cf.  'crambo-jingle,'  Ep.  J.  L.,  45,  p.  28. 

106  3.  and  never  think :  poets  are  with  Burns  '  the  thoughtless 
clan.'     In  an  Epistle  to  Major  Logan,  31-36,  he  says, — 

'  A  blessing  on  the  cheery  gang 
Wha  dearly  like  a  jig  or  sang, 
And  never  think  o'  right  or  wrang 

By  square  or  rule, 

But  as  the  clegs  o'  feeling  stang 

Are  wise  or  fool.' 

107  34.  Ill  may  she  be  :  Burns  mixed  some  very  hard  feelings  with 
his  vexation  at  Jean  ;  see  his  letters  of  this  time. 

107  43-48.  Cf.  what  he  says  of  himself  in  Ep.  D.,  Ep.  J.  L.,  Ep. 
IV.  S.,  etc. 

108  53.     He  wad  na  :  see  Address  to  the  Deil,  last  stanza,  p.  20. 


A   BARD'S    EPITAPH    (1786,  June). 

This  poem  closes  the  Kilmarnock  volume.    It  represents  one  of  those 
times  of  keen  introspection  that  are  frequent  in  both  Burns's  poems  and 


NOTES.  217 

his  letters.  His  self-examinations  are  seldom  morbid,  and  of  this  one 
Wordsworth  said,  — '  Here  is  a  sincere  and  solemn  avowal  —  a  confession 
ai  once  devout,  poetical,  and  human  —  a  history  in  the  shape  of  a 
prophecy.'  In  The  Vision  he  measured  himself  with  pride  as  a  man  of 
genius;  in  the  Unco  Giiid  he  held  before  the  poor  sinner  a  shield  of 
scorn  for  his  accusers.  Here  pride  and  scorn  are  laid  aside,  and  he 
reads  his  own  weaknesses  with  a  manly  humility  and  pathetic  truth  which 
turn  the  sting  of  every  assault  upon  his  character. 

lOS  1.  Is  there:  cf.  the  closing  entry  in  his  Comtn.  PL  Bk.,  Oct.  5, 
1785. 

108  9.  area  :  var.  arena.  The  country  churchyard  is  meant,  lying 
round  the  church;  'weekly,'  therefore,  means  'every  Sunday,'  when 
the  people  come  to  church. 

108  13-16.     So  in  his  second  Epistle  to  Davie,  he  says,  — 

'  An'  whiles,  but  aye  owre  late,  I  think 
Braw  sober  lessons.' 


THE   BRIGS    OF   AYR    (1786,  September). 

The  old  bridge  of  Ayr  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  historic  structures 
in  Scotland,  and  the  date  cut  on  the  parapet,  1232,  is  generally  ac- 
cepted as  authentic.  To  relieve  this,  a  new  bridge  was  planned  and 
was  in  process  of  erection  when  Burns  wrote  this  poem  (see  11.  46,  59- 
60,  68).  Mr.  John  Ballantyne,  then  Provost,  a  friend  of  Burns,  was 
chiefly  instrumental  in  having  the  new  bridge  built,  and  to  him  the  poem 
is  dedicated  in  lines  similar  to  the  dedication  to  Mr.  Robert  Aiken  that 
prefaces  The  Cotter's  Saturday  N'ii^ht.  The  old  bridge  is  still  in  use,  and 
only  in  the  summer  of  1S94  its  foundations  were  successfully  repaired 
and  strengthened.     The  line, 

'  I  '11  be  a  Brig  when  ye 're  a  shapeless  cairn  i' 

seems  likely  to  be  prophetic,  for  in  1S77  a  spate  almost  proved  fatal  to 
the  New  Brig. 

Like  The  Vision,  this  poem  is  unequal.  There  is  the  same  introduc- 
tion of  incongruous  matter,  and  the  same  blending  of  Scotch  and 
English,  with  a  similar  uncertainty  of  stroke  in  the  use  of  the  latter. 

The  influence  of  Fergusson  is  marked.  There  is  no  mere  borrowing, 
but  the  poem  takes  something  of  its  plan,  character,  and  finish  from  the 


218  NOTES. 

Dialogue  between  Brandy  and  Whisky,  from  The  Ghaists,  and  from  the 
better  known  Mutual  Complaint  of  Plainstanes  and  Causey. 

109  2.  thack  and  rape :  the  stacks  of  grain  are  thatched  with  straw 
and  the  thatch  is  then  roped  down.     See  also  T.  D.,  78,  note. 

109  3.  Potato-bings  :  long  heaps,  covered  with  straw  and  then  with 
earth  against  winter ;  the  covered  heaps  are  called  '  tatie-pits.' 

109  9.     death  .  .  .  smoor'd  :  Gram.  ace.  to  sense;  see  Gram.  Introd. 

109  10.  For  Burns's  detestation  of  field-sports  and  sympathy  with 
the  lower  animals,  see  Gen.  Introd.,  §  VI  (b). 

110  19.     half-lang:  half-grown,  a  corruption  of /;iz//?/«. 
110  25.     ancient  brugh :  see  The  V.,  86,  note. 

110  26.  By  whim  inspired  :  cf.  '  whim-inspired  fool,'  Bard's  Ep.,  i, 
p.  108. 

110  28.     Simpson's  :  '  a  noted  tavern  at  the  Auld  Brig-end.'  —  B. 

110  33.  Dungeon-clock:  orig.  written  'Steeple-clock,'  the  steeple 
being  over  the  old  jail.     It  exists  no  longer. 

110  34.  Wallace  Tower:  the  other  steeple,  a  piece  of  antique 
masonry  surmounted  by  a  spire  in  the  High  Street.  It  was  removed 
in  1835,  but  a  new  Wallace  tower  occupies  its  place. 

110  35-36.  Noteworthy  as  one  of  Burns's  few  references  to  the  sea; 
cf.  The  v.,  21 1-2,  p.  90,  where  the  language  is  curiously  like  this. 

110  40.  gently  crusting:  the  'infant  ice'  serves  another  purpose 
later  on,  1.  175. 

111  53.  Pictish:  popularly  applied  in  Scotland  to  very  ancient 
structures.     '  Gothic  '  is  similarly  loose  here  ;  cf.  Vandal,  \.-jt,. 

HI  58.  Adams  :  the  architect.  The  next  couplet  refers  to  the  'ris- 
ing piers  '  above,  1.  46. 

Ill  66.     down  the  water  :    the  new  bridge  is  about  100  yards  below. 

111  69.     as  me  :  quite  good  Scotch  ;  cf.  the  French  use  of  7noi. 
HI  74.     much  about  it:  idiomatic  for  ' much  the  same.' 

HI  75-76.  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS.;  if  it  was  inserted  in 
proof-correction,  it  was  a  remarkably  happy  second  thought. 

112  79.     Ducat-stream  :  '  a  noted  ford  just  above  the  Auld  Brig.' — B. 
112  86.     I  '11  be  a  Brig  :  see  Introd.  note. 

112  94.     haunted  Garpal :  'ghaists  still  inhabit  there.'  —  B. 
112  99.     Glenbuck  .  .  .  Ratton-Key:    i.e.,  'from  source  to  mouth.' 
'  Key '  =  quay. 

112  102.  The  whole  '  Poussin-like'  picture  is  a  striking  one  of  a 
Scotch  stream  in  a  '  spate.'     See  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns. 

113  110.  groves  :  a  description  of  Gothic  architecture  in  general,  the 
idea  of  whose  columns  and  arched  recesses  is  taken  from  the  woods. 


NOTES.  219 

113  115.  Forms  [that]  might:  the  Second  Commandment  forbids 
worshipping  any  likeness  of  anything  'in  heaven  above,  or  the  earth 
beneath,  or  the  waters  under  the  earth.' 

113  119.     mason:  used  as  an  adj.,  ' that  builds.' 

113  122.     cuifs  :  ref.  to  the  Auld  Licht  Puritans. 

113  133.  godly  brethren :  in  the  pre-Reformation  times  Ayr  had  two 
monasteries.     Cf.  1.  120,  above. 

113  135.     A  dig  at  the  easy-going  lawyers  of  his  own  day. 

113  136.     aboon  the  broo  :  over  the  water. 

114  151.  mak  to  through:  'succeed  in  making  through  with,  or 
good.' 

114  157.     odd:   the  rhyme  originally  stood,  'bodies  .  .  .  odious.' 
114  159.     Citizen:  the  'city  gent'  of  Ep.  Lapraik,  II,  61 ;  contemp- 
tuously shortened  into  '  cit.'  in  Ep.  J.  S.,  135,  p.  84  : 

'  Gie  wealth  to  some  be-ledger'd  cit.' 

114  171.  A  fairy  train:  this  is  like  a  flash  from  A  Midsummer 
Nighfs  Dream  ;  the  incongruity  lies  in  the  later  application,  11.  201-6. 

.115  178.  M'Lauchlan:  'a  well-known  performer  of  Scottish  music 
on  the  violin.'  —  />. 

115  180.  strathspeys:  commonly  called  'Scotch  reels';  but  the 
strathspey  is  the  slow  movement;  the  reel,  the  quick  time  that  follows. 
The  name  is  taken  from  the  Strath  (or  valley)  of  the  river  Spey  (Inver- 
nesshire). 

115  181.     melting  airs  :  those  to  which  Burns  wrote  his  songs. 

115  201.  Courage  :  the  Montgomeries,  famous  in  battle  story,  are 
here  complimented,  esp.  "  Soger  Hugh  "  ;  the  Teal  passes  their  country 
seat,  Coilsfield  House. 

116  203.  Benevolence:  Mrs.  Stewart  of  Stair,  one  of  his  earliest 
patrons. 

116  205.  Learning  and  Worth  :  Dugald  Stewart  of  Catrine  House, 
professor  of  Mental  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  Dining 
with  him,  Burns  met  his  first  'lord  ' ;  see  next  selection. 

The  poem  breaks  off  abruptly,  but  the  subject  is  not  one  suited  for 
expanded  treatment.  It  offers  little  evidence  for  or  against  Burns's 
ability  to  handle  elaborate  work.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Burns  never  did 
produce  an  extended  work,  but  it  would  be  rash  criticism  to  affirm  that 
the  author  of  \.h.Q  Jolly  Beggars  had  no  genius  that  way. 


220  NOTES. 


LORD    DAER    (1786,  October). 

Being  introduced  to  Professor  Stewart  by  Dr.  Mackenzie  of  Mauch- 
line,  Burns  was  invited  to  dine  at  Catrine  House  (see  B.  A.,  205,  note), 
and  there  met  Lord  Daer,  son  and  heir-apparent  of  the  Earl  of  Selkirk, 
who  incidentally  called.  This  was  the  poet's  first  interview  with  a 
member  of  the  British  aristocracy,  and  he  was  agreeably  disappointed 
in  his  impressions.  Two  days  later  he  sent  the  verses  to  Dr.  Mac- 
kenzie, with  a  note  saying  that  they  were  '  really  extempore,  but  a  little 
corrected  since.' 

116  13.    stand  out,  my  shin :  as  in  a  pompous  stage-strut. 

117  29.  what  surprised  me:  for  his  preconceived  notions  of  such 
rank,  see  T.  D.,  p.  71. 

117  31.     watch 'd:  i.e.,  looked  for. 

117  34.     Repeated  from  his  description  of  Casar  {T.  D.,  16,  p.  71). 

117  37.  Upon  this  he  acted  when  he  entered  the  world  of  rank  and 
fashion  in  Edinburgh. 

The  immediate  success  of  his  volume  did  not  at  once  affect  the  poet's 
plans  for  emigration.  He  bought  a  passage  to  Jamaica,  sent  his  bag- 
gage to  Greenock,  wrote  a  last  farewell  song,  —  The  Gloomy  Night  is 
Gathering  Fast,  and  otherwise  prepared  to  go.  His  departure  was 
staved  off  mainly  by  receipt  of  a  letter  written  by  Dr.  Blacklock,  the 
bhnd  poet  of  Edinburgh,  who  expressed  the  demand  for  a  second 
edition,  and  recommended  a  visit  to  the  capital,  then  a  strong  literary 
centre.  Burns  tried  his  Kilmarnock  printer,  but  the  latter  declined  the 
risk.  He  continued  to  harp  on  the  Jamaica  string  for  a  whole  year  to 
come,  but  the  prospect  of  Edinburgh  and  the  flattering  recognition  of 
Dr.  Blacklock  allured  him  and  unsettled  his  plans.  Finally  he  rather 
drifted  to  the  capital,  in  the  uncertain  hope  that  something,  probably  a 
place  on  the  Excise,  might  come  of  it. 


A    WINTER   NIGHT   (1786,  November). 

He  sent  a  copy  of  this  poem  to  Provost  Ballantyne  of  Ayr  on  Novem- 
ber 20,  exactly  one  week  before  the  author  set  out  for  Edinburgh. 

Like  the  Brigs  of  Ayr,  this  poem  opens  with  vigorous  Scotch,  pity  for 
the  suffering  animals  being  another  point  of  identity,  and  passes  into 
ambitious  English.     That  Burns  could  write  effective  English  is  abun- 


\ 


NOTES.  221 

dantly  proved,  but  here  he  drops  into  a  bombastic  imitation  of  the 
eighteenth-century  ode.  The  motive  is  genuine,  but  both  sentiment  and 
language  are  yeasty.  The  Scotch  portion  is  as  strong,  beautiful,  and 
true  descriptive  writing  as  he  ever  produced.  The  opening  description  is 
modeled  on  Fergusson's  Daft  Days. 

118  25.     you  :  anticipated  from  'you  '  in  1.  30.     Forces  are  meant. 

118  37.     Blow,  blow  :  paraphrased  from  the  song  in  As  You  Like  It : 

'  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude,'  etc. 

119  44.  The  three  stilted  strophes  in  irregular  metre  which  follow  are 
in  the  mood  of  Mati  was  Made  to  Mourn.  The  return  to  common  sense 
in  '  I  heard,'  etc.,  is  as  happy  as  it  is  natural. 

120  93-96.  This  furnished  Coleridge  with  the  closing  thought  of  the 
Ancient  Mariner, — 

'  He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best,'  etc. 

On  the  28th  of  November  Burns  entered  Edinburgh  and  took'up  his 
abode  in  a  poor  lodging.  His  fame  had  preceded  him.  His  acquaint- 
ance with  Professor  Stewart  almost  immediately  gave  him  entree  to  the 
world  of  letters.  Another  of  the  Ayrshire  gentry  introduced  him  to  the 
Earl  of  Glencairn,  who  immediately  led  him  into  the  world  of  fashion. 
In  a  few  weeks  his  wonderful  personality  had  brought  the  whole  capi- 
tal to  his  feet.  Presently  Henry  Mackenzie  (author  of  the  Man  of 
Feeling)  announced  in  the  Lounger  the  rise  of  a  new  poetic  genius; 
Lord  Glencairn  introduced  him  to  the  favor  of  Creech,  the  publisher; 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt  took  up  the  subscription  list, 
and  the  financial  success  of  a  new  edition  was  assured.  Meanwhile  the 
poet  collected  material  hitherto  unpublished  and  produced  some  new 
work. 


TO    A    HAGGIS    (1786,  December). 

On  December  20  it  appeared  in  the  Caledonian  Mercury.,  a  long- 
established  Scottish  newspaper,  though  not  the  first  by  a  century. 

A  Haggis  is  a  peculiarly  Scottish  dish,  consisting  of  a  mixture  of  oat- 
meal, chopped  meat,  suet,  and  seasoning,  boiled  in  the  stomach  of  a 
sheep;  the  chopped  meat  is  usually  the  vitals  of  the  same  animal. 
Allan  Cunningham  comments:  'The  vehement  nationality  of  this  poem 
is  but  a  small  part  of  its  merit.     The  haggis  of  the  north  is  the  mince- 


222  NOTES. 

pie  of  the  south.  Both  are  characteristic  of  the  people;  the  ingredients 
which  compose  the  former  are  all  of  Scottish  growth,  including  the  bag 
which  contains  them;  the  ingredients  of  the  latter  are  gathered  from 
the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  The  haggis  is  the  triumph  of  poverty ; 
the  mince-pie  the  triumph  of  wealth.' 

121  1.     Fair  fa'  :   '  fair  befal,'  a  form  of  good  greeting. 

121  6.     as  lang  's  my  arm  :  cf.  '  like  a  tether,'  H.  F.,  215  (note). 

121  9.  pin :  the  wooden  pin  used  for  fixing  the  opening  of  the 
haggis. 

121  13.     dight :  pron. '  dicht,'  = '  wipe.' 

121  19.  horn  for  horn  :  '  spoonful  for  spoonful ';  the  horns  are  horn- 
spoons,  and  they  helped  themselves  out  of  a  common  dish  in  the  middle 
of  the  table. 

121  24.     Bethanket :  '  grace  after  meat ';  cf.  the  '  Selkirk  '  grace, — 

'  Some  hae  meat  that  canna  eat, 
And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it ; 
But  we  hae  meat,  and  we  can  eat, 
An'  sae  the  Lord  be  thanket! 

121  25.  Cf.  the  contempt  he  pours  with  similar  good  nature  on 
French  brandy,  Sc.  Dr.,  79,  p.  66. 

122  33.     '  His  spindle  leg  no  thicker  than  a  good  whip  lash.' 
122  43.     Ye  pow'rs  :  in  the  Mercury  this  verse  ran, — 

'  Ye  powers  wha  gie  us  a  that 's  gude, 
Still  bless  auld  Caledonia's  brood 
Wi'  great  John  Barley-corn's  heart's  blude 

In  stoups  an'  luggies  ; 
And  on  our  board  that  king  o'  food, 
A  glorious  haggice.' 

Chambers  asserted  that  this  was  an  impromptu  grace,  out  of  which 
the  '  Address  '  grew. 


TO   THE   GUIDWIFE   OF   WAUCHOPE-HOUSE    (1787, 

March). 

This  lady,  Mrs.  Scott,  struck  with  the  power  displayed  in  the  Kilmar- 
nock volume,  addressed  to  liurns  a  clever  epistle  in  rhyme,  in  which  she 
affected  to  doubt  that  he  was  '  wi'  plowmen  schooled,  wi'  plowmen  fed.' 


NOTES.  223 

'  Gude  troth,  your  saul  and  body  baith 
Were  better  fed,  I  '11  gie  my  aith, 
Than  theirs  wha  sup  sour  milk  an'  parritch, 
And  bummle  through  the  single  carritch,' 

(i.e.,  single  or  shorter  catechism).  Burns  in  reply  tells  how  he  came  to 
be  a  poet.  In  his  autobiographical  letter  to  Dr.  Moore  (Aug.  2,  1787), 
he  repeated  the  substance  of  this  poem,  and  gave  at  length  the  episode 
of  '  Handsome  Nell.' 

122  3.  thresh  the  barn:  thresh  the  grain  crop  with  the  flail;  cf.  V., 
6,  note. 

122  4.  yokin :  from  6  to  11  a.m.  is  the  forenoon,  and  from  i  to  6 
P.M.  the  afternoon  '  yoking.' 

122  5.  forfoughten :  in  his  autob.  letter  he  calls  it  the  '  unceasing 
moil  of  a  galley  slave.' 

123  10.  rig  and  lass  :  it  was  the  country  custom  to  pair  off  men  and 
women  on  the  harvest  field ;  a  pair  took  a  '  rig  '  between  them. 

123  15-20.  For  this  early  patriotic  ambition,  cf.  Ep.  IV.S.  and  notes, 
and  see  also  The  Vision,  Duan  Second. 

1,23  29.     the  elements  0'  sang:  cf.  V.,  117, — 

'  Thy  rudely  carolled  chiming  phrase 
In  uncouth  rhymes.' 

123  32.  that  hairst  .  .  .  my  partner  :  see  above.  He  was  then 
fifteen,  and  the  girl  was  Nelly  Kilpatrick,  —  '  Handsome  Nell '  of  his 
first  song.  '  Among  her  other  love-inspiring  qualities  she  sang  sweetly, 
and  it  was  her  favorite  reel  to  which  I  attempted  giving  an  embodied 
vehicle  in  rhyme.' —  {Letter  to  D.  M.) 

yi\  53.     Ye  're  wae  men  :  cf.  Green  Groiu  the  Rashes,  — 

'  For  you  sae  douce,  ye  sneer  at  this ; 
Ye  're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  O.' 

124  57.  For  you :  ref.  to  Mrs.  Scott's  epistle ;  she  was  the  wife  of  a 
country  laird,  and  therefore  not  bred  to  feeding  and  milking  cows. 

124  60.  marl'd  plaid :  note  the  rolled  r.  She  had  said  in  her 
epistle,  — 

'  O  gif  I  ken'd  but  where  ye  baide, 
I  'd  send  to  you  a  marled  plaid.' 

Burns  called  at  Wauchope-House  on  his  border  tour,  but  was  not 
charmed  with  the  'guidwife,'  nor  do  we  hear  more  of  the  plaid. 


224  NOTES. 

124  61.  ware:  worn.  This  is  Burns,  but  it  is  neither  Scots  nor 
English;  Douglas  has  a  preterite  'ware.' 

124  65.     '  Than  any  one  whom  ermine  ever  covered.' 

Early  in  the  year  the  Earl  of  Buchan  advised  Burns  to  '  fire  his  muse 
at  Scottish  story.'  The  poet  answered  that  he  '  wished  for  nothing 
more  than  to  make  a  leisurely  pilgrimage  through  his  native  country, 
.  .  .  and,  catching  the  inspiration,  to  pour  the  deathless  names  in  song.' 
But  Prudence,  he  says,  counsels  differently.  'I  must  return  to  my 
humble  station  and  woo  my  rustic  muse  in  my  wonted  way  at  the  plow- 
tail.' —  {Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Buchan,  Feb.  3,  1787). 

Still  the  proceeds  of  his  Edinburgh  edition  enabled  him  partially  to 
satisfy  his  longing.  May  and  part  of  June  he  spent  in  a  tour  over  the 
Border  country,  and  on  August  25  he  started  with  William  Nichol 
(who  afterwards  brewed  the  peck  o'  maut)  on  a  tour  through  part  of 
the  Northern  Highlands.  With  Burns  the  Border  tour  was  poetically 
unproductive ;  it  remained  for  Scott  to  reawaken  the  Border  minstrelsy. 
But  the  Highlands,  besides  touching  the  romantic  chord  of  Burns's 
Jacobite  fancy,  brought  his  mind  more  finely  into  tune  with  the  old 
Scottish  melodies.  He  was  now  returning  to  pure  song,  and  for  the 
rest  of  his  life  songs  were  to  form,  with  only  one  exception  of  first  im- 
portance, the  entire  bulk  of  his  poetical  production.  On  May  4  he  had 
begun  his  connection  with  Johnson's  Musical  Museum,  to  which  he 
contributed  in  all  184  songs. 


THE    BIRKS    OF   ABERFELDY    (1787,  Aug.  30). 

'  I  composed  these  stanzas  standing  under  the  Falls  of  Moness,  near 
Aberfeldy.'  —  B.  They  are  partly  an  echo  of  an  old  Aberdeenshire 
ditty.  The  Birks  of  Abe7-geldy.  The  melody  is  old  Scottish,  and  bears 
the  impression  of  the  ancient  scale. 


HUMBLE   PETITION   OF   BRUAR    WATER    (1787,  Sept.  5). 

Passing  through  the  north  of  Perthshire,  Burns  spent  two  days  at 
Blair-Athole  with  the  Duke  and  his  family.  Athole  entertained  him 
with  Highland  hospitality,  and  on  his  departure  recommended  a  visit  to 
the  falls  of  Bruar.  Burns  went,  and  found  that  they  were  '  exceedingly 
picturesque  and  beautiful,  but  their  effect  was  much  impaired  by  the 


NOTES.  Ill 

want  of  trees  and  shrubs.'  Three  days  later  he  sent  this  poem  to  Mr. 
Walker,  the  Duke's  family  tutor,  afterwards  professor  of  Latin  in  the 
University  of  Edinburgh. 

126  11.     spouts:  spoutings  or  leapings. 

126  26.  twisting  strength :  '  A  happy  picture  of  the  upper  part  of 
the  fall.'  —  Walker. 

Yll  34.     wishes  :  the  petition  was,  of  course,  granted. 

127  47.  robin  :  the  Scotch  robin,  the  redbreast,  is  a  different  bird 
from  the  American,  and  is  about  the  size  of  a  sparrow.  It  is  Scotland's 
only  song-bird  in  late  autumn,  and  its  soft,  clear  trill  is  in  fine  accord 
with  the  'pensive'  season. 

128  63.     hour  of  heav'n  :  hour  of  heavenly  bliss. 

128  69.     reaper's  nightly  beam:  light  of  the  harvest  moon. 

128  71.  darkly  dashing  :  an  Ossianic  epithet.  Under  the  circum- 
stances, it  shows  how  closely  Burns  observed. 

128  81-88.  '  The  Duke's  fine  family  attracted  much  of  his  admira- 
tion ;  he  drank  their  health  as  "  honest  men  and  bonie  lasses,"  an  idea 
which  was  much  applauded  by  the  company.'  —  Walker. 


THE   BANKS    OF   THE   DEVON    (1787,  October.) 

This  was  composed  to  one  of  the  melodies  he  picked  up  on  his 
northern  tour,  —  'True  old  Highland,'  a  Gaelic  air  he  heard  sung  at  In- 
verness, Bannerach  dhoii  a  chri.  The  heroine  was  Charlotte  Hamil- 
ton, sister  of  his  friend  Gavin  (the  '  Gau'n '  of  ^Z.  yl/'^T/.,  25,  p.  44). 
The  song  is  'singular  as  a  compliment  to  a  handsome  woman,  in  which 
he  did  not  assume  the  character  of  a  lover.'  —  Lockhart.  See  also 
Fairest  Maid  on  Devon  Batiks,  note. 

129  3-4.  '  Miss  Charlotte  Hamilton  .  .  .  was  born  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ayr,  but  was,  at  the  time  I  wrote  these  lines,  residing  at  Harvieston, 
on  the  romantic  banks  of  the  little  river  Devon.'  —  B. 


BLYTHE,   BLYTHE  AND    MERRY   WAS   SHE  (1787,  October). 

'  I  composed  these  verses  while  I  stayed  at  Ochtertyre  with  Sir 
William  Murray.  The  lady  .  .  .  was  the  well-known  toast,  Miss 
P'uphcmia  Murray  of  I.introse,  the  Flower  of  Strathmore.'  —  B. 


226  NOTES. 

The  air  is  that  of  the  old  song  Andro  an'  his  Cutty  Gun,  which  gave 
Burns  the  first  two  lines  and  the  strain  of  the  last  stanza. 

129  2.     Yarrow    banks:    taken   for  poetic   associations.     See    Gala 
Water. 
129  6.     but  and  ben  :  '  all  over  the  house  she  made  gladness.' 

129  8.     Glenturit :  pron.  tun-et.     In  this  wild  glen  was  Loch  Turit, 
the  scene  of  his  lines  Ott  Scaring  Wildfowl. 

130  17.     Cf.  the  last  four  Hnes  of  the  old  song, — 

'  I  hae  been  east,  I  hae  been  west, 
I  hae  been  far  ayont  the  sun, 
But  the  blythest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw 
Was  Andro  wi'  his  cutty  gun.' 


MTHERSON'S    FAREWELL   (1787,  October). 

Another  of  the  themes  he  brought  with  him  from  the  north.  James 
Macpherson  was  a  famous  Highland  reaver,  who,  after  terrorizing  several 
counties,  was  taken  and  hanged  on  the  Gallow  Hill  of  Banff  in  1700. 
There  is  a  tradition  that  he  was  skilled  in  music  and  poetry,  and  that 
while  lying  in  prison  he  composed  the  air  and  song,  Macpherson'' s  Rant  ; 
at  the  place  of  execution  he  played  the  Ratit,  and  then  broke  the  violin 
over  his  knee.     His  sword  is  preserved  at  Duff  House,  Banff. 

The  tame  ballad  given  in  Herd's  Collection  (I,  99),  bears,  beyond  the 
subject,  no  relation  to  this  '  wild,  stormful  song.'  Burns  drew  the  chorus 
and  the  idea  from  another  Rant. 

'  I  've  spent  my  time  in  rioting. 

Debauched  my  health  and  strength ; 
I  squandered  fast  as  pillage  came, 
And  fell  to  shame  at  length. 
But  dantonly  and  wantonly 
And  rantonly  I  '11  gae, 
I  '11  play  a  tune  and  dance  it  roun' 
Beneath  the  gallows'  tree.' 


MY    HOGGIE    (1787). 

This  was  written  for  Johnson  (see  note  preceding  The  Birks  of  Aber- 
feldy)  to  a  melody  which  he  picked  up  from  the  'diddling'  of  an  old 


II 


NOTES.  Ill 

woman  in  Liddesdale.     She  said  its  name  was,  '  What  7/  /  do  gin  my 
haggle  die?  '     It  was  a  favorite  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's. 

Cromek  {Select  Scottish  Songs)  remarks  that  it  is  'a  silly  subject 
treated  sublimely.'  Without  conceding  either  the  silliness  or  the 
sublimity,  the  reader  may  recognize,  the  tenderness  of  Poor  Mailie  in- 
vested in  humorously  tragic  array  of  dark  and  vague  circumstance. 

131  1.     Hoggie  :  a  '  hogg  '  is  a  sheep  before  it  has  lost  its  first  fleece. 


TO    HUGH    PARKER    (1788,  June). 

Having  realized  about  ^^500  from  his  Edinburgh  edition,  Burns  gave 
his  brother  Gilbert  ^180  to  help  him  at  Mossgiel,  and  himself  took  a 
lease  of  the  poetically  fine  but  agriculturally  wretched  farm  of  Ellisland, 
March  13.  He  arrived  at  Ellisland  June  12.  In  April  he  had  been 
regularly  married  to  Jean  Armour,  and  now  he  was  preparing  a  home 
for  her.  He  was  getting  a  new  house  built,  and  meanwhile  had  only 
the  accommodation  described  in  the  text. 

132  2.  unknown  to  rhyme:  'As  for  the  Muses,  they  [the  people 
hereabout]  have  as  much  idea  of  a  rhinoceros  as  of  a  poet.'  — Z^/^fr  to 
Mr.  Bengo,  Sept.  9,  1788. 

132  11.  peat:  used  in  the  hill  districts  of  Scotland  as  a  substitute 
for  coal;  it  is  dug  from  the  mosses,  cut  into  blocks,  and  then  dried  and 
stacked. 

132  17.  Gallowa'  :  Galloway  is  the  older  name  for  the  extreme 
southwest  counties  of  Scotland,  in  one  of  which  Ellisland  lies. 

132  18.  Jenny  Geddes :  name  of  the  mare  he  rode  on  his  border 
tour  and  after;  for  a  description  of  her,  see  A.  M.  M.,  note. 

132  21.     westlin  :  towards  Ayrshire,  where  Jean  was. 

133  :)6.  cast  saut  upo'  thy  tail :  i.e.,  get  near  enough  to  catch  or 
overtake,  lie  uses  the  same  phrase  in  his  Scotch  letter  to  W.  Nichol, 
already  quoted  (see  A.  M.  M.,  p.  67). 


OF   A'   THE   AIRTS   THE    WIND    CAN    I5LAW    (1788,  June). 

Burns  had  hoped  for  some  kind  of  an  honest  living  to  come  out  of 
all  the  huge  admiration  he  received  in  Edinlnirgh,  something  that  might 
enable  him  to  realize  his  gfenius.  Nothing  came,  and  he  was  now  more 
than   ever  unfit  for  farmiiic;.      It  was  in  this   bitterness  of  disappoint- 


228  NOTES. 

ment  (see  his  Letters)  that  he  began  farming  on  EUisland,  and  no  better 
illustration  of  his  elastic  temper  can  be  found  than  the  perfect  happiness 
of  this  love-lyric  in  which  he  greets  his  coming  wife.  Mrs.  Burns  was 
then  with  the  poet's  mother  and  sisters  at  Mossgiel,  learning  dairy  matters. 

133  5-8.  The  first  draft  of  these  four  lines  may  be  found  in  an 
earlier  fragment,  beginning  '  Though  Cruel  Fate.' 

'  Though  mountains  rise  and  deserts  howl, 
And  oceans  roar  between, 
Yet,  dearer  than  my  deathless  soul, 
I  still  would  love  my  Jean.' 

133  16.  The  sixteen  lines  usually  sung  in  addition  to  those  of  the 
text  were  written  by  Mr.  John  Hamilton  of  Edinburgh,  who  later  con- 
tributed to  Scott's  Border  Minstrelsy. 

'  O  blaw,  ye  wastlin  winds,  blaw  saft, 

Amang  the  leafy  trees. 
Wi  balmy  gale,  frae  muir  and  dale 

Bring  hame  the  laden  bees : 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me 

That 's  aye  sae  neat  an'  clean  ; 
Ae  blink  o'  her  wad  banish  care, 

Sae  lovely  is  my  Jean. 

'  What  sighs  an'  vows  amang  the  knowes 

Hae  passed  atween  us  twa ! 
How  fond  to  meet,  how  wae  to  part 

That  night  she  gaed  awa ! 
The  powers  aboon  alane  can  ken 

To  whom  the  heart  is  seen. 
That  nane  can  be  sae  dear  to  me 

As  my  sweet,  lovely  Jean.' 


AULD    LANG    SYNE    (1788,  December). 

Sent  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  in  a  letter  of  December  17.  When  sending  a 
copy  of  it  to  Thomson  (September,  1793),  Burns  affected  that  he  had 
taken  down  '  this  olden  song  of  the  olden  time  from  an  old  man's  sing- 
ing.' The  phrase,  'Auldlang  syne,' is  traditional;  so  likewise  is  the 
melody,  and  from  time  unknown  there  have  been  words  to  it.  To  Mrs. 
Dunlop,  Burns  spoke  of  it  as  a  fragment,  —  "Light  be  the  turf  on  the 
breast  of  the  heaven-inspired  poet  who   composed  this  glorious  frag- 


NOTES.  119 

ment.'  But  Burns  knew  Allan  Ramsay's  version  of  the  song,  and  per- 
haps also  Sempill's  —  perhaps  one  even  earlier  than  Sempill's.  The 
earliest  known  begins, — 

'  Should  old  acquaintance  be  forgot 
And  never  thought  upon  ? 
The  flames  of  love  extinguished 
And  freely  past  and  gone  ? ' 

This  is  attributed  to  Francis,  son  of  Robert,  Sempill  (see  notes  to  P.  M.), 
and  occurs  in  A  Choice  Selection  of  Comic  and  Serious  Scots  Poems, 
edited  by  James  Watson  (Edin.,  1713).  Ramsay's  version,  distinguished 
by  eighteenth-century  classicism,  begins,  — 

'  Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
Though  they  return  with  scars  ? 
These  are  the  noble  hero's  lot. 
Obtained  in  glorious  wars.' 

134  9.     And  surely :  in  Thomson's  Collection  this  stanza  is  placed 
last ;  the  order  of  the  text  is  that  of  Johnson's  Museum. 
'  134  2,'j.     guid-willie  waught :  this  is  sometimes  erroneously  written 
'  guid  willie-waught' :  there  is  no  such  word. 


GO    FETCH   TO   ME   A    PINT   O'    WINE    (1788,  December). 

Sent  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  along  vrith  the  preceding,  as  'two  old  stanzas,' 
which,  he  said,  pleased  him  mightily.  The  first  four  lines  are  old;  for 
the  rest,  he  is  said  to  have  been  inspired  by  seeing  a  young  soldier, 
ordered  abroad,  taking  leave  of  his  sweetheart  on  the  'pier  o'  Leith.' 

135  5.     Leith  :  the  '  Piraeus'  of  the  'Modern  Athens.' 

135  6.  frae  the  Ferry :  i.e.,  seaward,  from  Queensferry  up  the 
Firth. 

135  7.  Berwick-law  :  a  conspicuous  hill  near  the  shore  by  North 
Berwick,  and  a  landmark  for  sailors.     For  'law,'  see  Vocab. 

135  12.     deep  :  van  '  thick,'  but  '  deep  '  sings  better. 


JOHN    ANDERSON   MY    JO    (1789,  some  time  before  July). 

This  was  a  very  old  song,  reworked  by  Burns.  The  melody  was  origi- 
nally a  solemn  chant.  In  Reformation  times  in  Scotland  it  was 
quickened  and  fitted  with  a  set  of  ribald  words.     This  ribald  version 


230  NOTES. 

prevailed  until  Burns  rescued  the  lovely  melody  and  clothed  it  anew  in 
words  that  idealize  and  glorify  their  subject  for  all  time.  This  is,  more- 
over, the  very  best  example  of  the  purification  Burns  gave  to  Scottish 
song. 

The  minor  mode  of  the  air  suggests  pathos,  but  the  sentiment  of  the 
song  is  one  of  supreme  happiness.  In  Allan's  drawing,  which  illus- 
trated the  song  in  Thomson's  work,  'the  old  couple  are  seated  by  the 
fireside,  the  gude-wife  in  great  good  humor  is  clapping  John's  shoulder, 
while  he  smiles  and  looks  at  her  with  such  glee  as  to  show  that  he 
fully  recollects  the  pleasant  days  when  they  were  "first  acquent."' '  — 
Letter  of  Thomson  to  Burtts,  August,  1793. 

135  1.  my  jo:  'my  sweetheart.'  The  punctuation,  'my  jo  John,' 
makes  no  sense.     For  'jo,'  see  Vocab. 

135  4,  5.  The  discrepancy  between  the  two  brows,  the  '  brent '  and 
the  '  held,'  need  not  cause  difificulty. 


TAM   GLEN    (17S9). 

Mrs.  Begg,  Burns's  sister,  declared  that  this  was  an  old  song 
retouched.  But  of  the  old  song  nothing  is  known  except  the  burden, 
and  in  the  Museum  the  song  appears  with  Burns's  name.  Its  7ia/vete 
is  unique,  though  not  unlike  that  of  Last  May  a  Braw  Wooer. 

136  6.  In  poortith :  this  was  the  gospel  Burns  preached  in  the 
Bachelor's  Club  at  Tarbolton. 

136  10.  "Guid-day  to  you,"  —  brute!  This  is  sometimes  punctu- 
ated "  Guid-day  to  you,  brute  I "  and  defended  on  the  ground  that  '  brute ' 

was  a  familiar  salutation  of  Lord  K ,  the  subject  of  John  Rankine's 

curious  dream  :  '  Gae  'wa  wi'  ye,'  quoth  Satan, '  ye  canna  be  here;  ye  're 
ane  o'  Lord  K 's  d — d  brutes;  hell 's  fou  o'  them  already.' 

136  19.  ordain'd :  the  word  has  a  theological  flavor,  fore-ordination 
being  a  leading  idea  in  the  Scotch  religious  economy. 

137  21.  valentines'  dealing  :  alluding  to  the  custom  of  writing  names 
of  lads  and  lasses  on  separate  slips  and  drawing  partners. 

137  25.  Halloween:  see ^.,  215,  p.  62,  and  Burns's  note.  'Waukin' 
is,  of  course,  '  waking,'  to  watch  the  sark-sleeve. 


NOTES.  231 


WILLIE   BREWED   A    PECK    O'    MAUT    (1789,  September). 

In  the  summer  of  1789  Burns  and  Allan  Masterton,  the  musician, 
went  to  visit  William  Nichol  (the  hot-headed  schoolmaster  who  ruled 
Burns  on  his  northern  tour),  who  was  then  spending  his  vacation  at 
Moffat.  They  held  a  symposium,  in  celebration  of  which  Burns  wrote 
this  song  and  Masterton  composed  the  air.  The  Burns  punch-bowl  in 
the  British  Museum  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  'browst.' 

137  2.     see  :  the  commoner,  but  less  authentic,  reading  is  '  pree.' 

138  19.  first :  some  versions  read  '  last,'  and  Burns  once  quotes  it, 
with  '  last  'in  italics,  but  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  changed  for 
the  occasion. 

Baroness  Nairne  succeeded  in  having  this  song  debarred  from  Smith's 
Scottish  Minstrel.  She  might  have  better  turned  the  point  of  its 
imagined  tendencies  by  getting  Smith  to  quote  below  it  a  verse  written 
some  years  later  by  John  Struthers  as  a  sequel : 

'  Nae  mair  in  learnin  Willie  toils,  nor  Allan  wakes  the  meltin  lay, 
Nor  Rob,  wi  fancy-witchin  wiles,  beguiles  the  hour  o'  dawnin  day ; 
For  tho'  they  were  na  very  fou,  that  wicked  '  wee  drap  in  the  ee' 
Has  done  its  turn :  untimely  now  the  green  grass  waves  o'er  a'  the  three.' 


TO   MARY    IN    HEAVEN    (1789,  October). 

For  Mary  Campbell,  see  notes  to  To  Mary.  Burns  did  not  know  of 
Mary's  illness  until  some  days  after  her  death.  They  had  parted  in 
May ;  Mary  died  in  October.  In  the  interval  Mary  had  drifted  from 
Burns's  life,  and  in  the  excitements  that  then  surrounded  him  he  had 
forgotten  her.  But  the  shock  of  her  sudden  death, and  perhaps  a  sting 
of  remorse,  so  affected  his  emotional  mind  that  her  memory  became  to 
him  ever  after  a  sacred  idealization. 

The  melodramatic  account  of  the  composition  of  this  lyric  accords 
well  with  the  rest  of  the  romance  that  surrounds  Mary's  name.  On  the 
anniversary  of  Mary's  death  he  was  observed  by  his  wife  to  '  grow  sad 
about  something,  and  to  wander  solitary  on  the  banks  of  the  Nith  and 
about  his  farmyard  in  the  extremest  agitation  of  mind  nearly  the  whole 
night.  He  screened  himself  on  the  lee  side  of  a  corn-stack  from  the 
cutting  edge  of  the  night  wind,  and  lingered  till  approaching  dawn 
wiped  out  the  stars  one  by  one  from   the  firmament.'     Finally,  after 


232  NOTES. 

repeated  entreaties  of  his  wife,  he  entered,  and  wrote  the  lines  as  they 
now  stand. 

138  1.  ling'ring  star:  this  is  the  'one  planet  that  shone  like 
another  moon '  of  the  legend. 

138  17.  Ayr;  the  spot  is  still  pointed  out,  —  'a  grove  more  patheti- 
cally hallowed  than  the  fountain  of  Vaucluse  or  Julie's  bosque.  There 
is  no  spot  in  Scotland  so  created  for  a  modern  idyl,  none  leaves  us  with 
such  an  impression  of  perfect  peace  as  this,  where  the  river,  babbling 
over  a  shelf  of  pebbles  to  the  left,  then  hushed  through  "  birch  and 
hawthorn  "  and  Narcissus  willows,  murmuring  on  heedless  of  the  near 
and  noisy  world,  keeps  the  memory  green  of  our  minstrel  and  his 
Mary.' — Nichol's  Monograph  on  Burns. 


TO   DR.    BLACKLOCK    (1789,  October  21). 

It  was  he  who  practically  turned  the  drift  of  the  poet's  life  (see  note 
preceding  W.  N^,  and  he  remained  true  to  Burns  till  his  death  in  1791. 
This  epistle  was  written  in  answer  to  a  friendly  letter,  also  in  rhyme,  from 
the  blind  poet,  August  24.  We  trace  in  it  something  of  the  bitter  humor 
of  that  Extemporaneous  Effusion,  — 

'  Searchin  auld  wives'  barrels, 
Ochone  the  day ! 
That  clarty  barm  should  stain  my  laurels  1 ' 

But  the  Excise  had  been  Burns's  early  choice.  His  thoughts  first  went 
that  way  during  the  dark  days  of  1786.  The  subject  comes  up  repeatedly 
during  his  Edinburgh  season  and  later.  With  a  return  to  farming  in 
view,  he  partially  gave  up  the  Excise  idea,  but  a  single  season's  experi- 
ence of  EUisland  convinced  him  that  on  farming  and  poetry  alone  he 
and  his  family  would  come  to  grief,  and  on  September  10, 1788,  he  begged 
Mr.  Graham  of  Fintry  to  get  him  placed.  In  a  letter  to  Miss  Peggy 
Chalmers,  September  16,  he  says,  —  'If  I  could  set  all  before  your 
view,  whatever  disrespect  you,  in  common  with  the  world,  have  for  this 
business,  I  know  you  would  approve  my  idea.'  After  waiting  another 
year,  he  acknowledges  receipt  of  his  appointment  in  a 'sonnet' dated 
August  10,  1789,  and  then  in  his  Extemporaneous  Effusion  gives  his 
reason  for  accepting  it, — 

'  Thae  movin  things  ca'd  wives  an'  weans 
Would  move  the  very  hearts  o'  stanes.' 

He  entered  on  his  duties  probably  in  the  beginning  of  November. 


NOTES.  233 

139  5.  as  weel 's  I  want  ye :  a  formula  of  health-drinking;  'want' 
= '  wish.' 

139  7.  Heron  :  Robert  Heron,  author  of  a  History  of  Scotland  and 
of  a  Life  of  iJurns. 

140  21.  Parnassian  queens  :  to  Mr.  Graham  he  writes  on  November 
9,  — '  I  do  not  find  my  hurried  life  greatly  inimical  to  my  correspondence 
with  the  Muses.  Their  visits  .  .  .  are  short  and  far  between ;  but  I 
meet  them  now  and  then  as  I  jog  through  the  hills  of  Nithsdale,  just 
as  I  used  to  do  on  the  banks  of  Ayr.'  The  muses  did  not  desert  him 
to  his  dying  hour,  but  that  gaugership  was  as  detrimental  to  Bums  as 
it  was  discreditable  to  his  country.  For  queens  some  editors  read 
'  queires  '  =  '  books.' 

140  2.J.     damies  :  '  dames,'  the  '  Parnassian  queens '  above. 

140  35.  sned  besoms  :  in  the  country,  brooms  are  made  of  furze  or 
'broom.'  The  plant  is  cut  ('sned'),  the  twigs  bound  together  and 
trimmed,  and  this  head  fastened  to  a  handle.  The  heather  plant  is 
similarly  utilized.  These  articles  are  made  by  travelling  tinkers,  and 
S9ld  as  '  besoms,'  the  distinction  being  '  broom-besoms  '  and  '  heather- 
besoms.'  The  name  'broom'  always  refers  to  the  plant  —  never,  by 
itself,  in  Scotch,  to  the  article.  —  thraw  saugh  woodies  :  '  twist  willow 
ropes,' '  make  wicker-baskets,'  another  occupation  of  the  travelling  tinker, 
whom  Burns  had  in  mind. 

140  ,')9.     Not  but :  the  full  idiomatic  expression  is  '  no  but  what.' 

140  41-42.     Cf.  his  Epistle  to  Davie,  p.  lo. 


elp:gy  on  captain  matthew  Henderson  (1790, 

July). 

Of  this  gentleman  little  is  known  except  that  he  was  an  honored 
citizen  of  Edinburgh,  and  devoted  to  '  a  friend  and  a  bottle.'  Bums's 
very  high  regard  for  him  is  shown  in  the  sub-title  to  the  poem.  On 
Henderson's  death,  Nov.  21,  17S8,  Burns  composed  'an  elegiac  stanza 
or  two,'  and  now  he  returned  to  the  subject  and  completed  this  Elegy. 
The  incongruous  opening  no  doubt  belongs  to  the  earlier  effort.  The 
descriptive  detail  of  the  poem  is  wonderfully  close,  true,  and  graphic, 
and  in  spite  of  the  invocation,  '  Mourn,'  the  character  of  the  composi- 
tion is  descriptive  rather  than  elegiac;  as  an  elegy  it  lacks  object.  Con- 
trast, in  this  respect,  Shelley's  Adonais. 

One  MS.  has,  instead  of  the  motto  given  in  the  text, — 

*  Should  the  poor  be  flattered  ? ' 

Shakspere. 


234  NOTES. 

TAM    O'    SHANTER    (1790,  October). 

When  Captain  Grose  was  at  Carse  House,  working  up  his  Antiquities 
of  Scotland,  Burns  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  include  AUoway 
Kirk,  and  roused  his  interest  by  relating  witch  stories  connected  with  it. 
Grose  agreed  to  do  so  if  Burns  would  write  him  letterpress  to  accompany 
the  picture.  Burns  sent  him  three  legends  in  prose  and  the  tale  of  Tarn 
o''  Skanter,  in  which  he  gives  the  second  legend  and  part  of  the  third  in 
verse. 

This  was  his  first  and  only  tale,  just  as  the  Jolly  Beggars  was  his 
only  effort  towards  drama,  and  between  these  two,  critics  have  been 
divided  in  determining  his  masterpiece.  Carlyle,  Arnold,  and  others 
have  given  the  preference  to  the  Jolly  Beggars  ;  Scott  and  Burns  him- 
self decided  in  favor  of  Tarn  o'  Shanter.  There  is  no  need  to  choose. 
The  kind  of  art  is  different ;  and  if  the  one  connects  his  genius  with 
him  who  created  the  comedy  of  Eastcheap,  the  other  as  surely  allies 
him  with  the  author  of  the  Canterbury  Tales. 

The  composition  is  said  to  have  been  finished  in  one  day,  —  '  the  best 
day's  work  done  in  Scotland  since  Bannockburn,'  Carlyle  says.  Through 
the  colored  haze  of  tradition  we  can  see  Burns  gesticulating  with  ex- 
citement, and  believe  that  his  wife  saw  the  tears  '  happin  owre  his 
cheeks.' 

145  1.  chapman  billies  :  the  fairs  in  Scotland  are  a  harvesting  time 
for  all  sorts  of  travelling  hucksters;  they  carry  their  wares  and  a  stall 
with  them,  and  follow  the  market-days  from  town  to  town ;  the  stalls 
are  ranged  along  the  side  of  the  street. 

145  5.  we  sit :  Burns  had  been  there,  and  he  sympathetically 
includes  the  reader  in  '  we.' 

145  22.  market-day  :  ref.  to  the  weekly  market.  What  with  market- 
days,  meal-makings,  horse-shoeings,  and  occasional  Sundays,  Tam  had 
not  much  time  to  get  sober. 

I'^S  25-26.  The  construction  is,  —  '  that  the  smith  and  you  got  roaring 
full  on  [the  occasion  of]  every  naig  on  [which]  a  shoe  was  ca'd.' 

145  28.  Kirkton :  a  common  name  for  the  village  or  farm  near  the 
kirk;  here,  however,  it  may  mean  Kirkoswald,  a  place  which  even  now 
lays  proud  claim  to  the  originals  of  all  the  characters,  even  'Cutty- 
Sark.'     For  proximity  of  kirk  and  tavern,  cf.  H.  F.,  154,  p.  40. 

146  32.  haunted  kirk :  this  is  the  first  link  between  the  human  and 
the  supernatural  in  the  poem;  the  second  occurs  11.  77-78.  Carlyle 
strangely  says  that  this  chasm  is  'nowhere  bridged  over.' 


NOTES.  235 

146  40.  drank  divinely  :  one  thinks  of  the  old  Teutonic  blood,  and 
the  gods  of  old  who  loved  their  ale. 

146  41.  Souter  Johnie:  as  the  Souter  lived  in  Ayr,  Tarn  must  have 
absented  himself  from  home  during  the  '  weeks  '  he  and  the  souter  had 
been  '  fou  thegither.'     No  wonder  I\ate  scolded. 

146  59-66.  This  curious  streak  of  sentimental  English  in  a  poem 
otherwise  Scotch  and  humorous  is  intelligible  in  Burns,  who  never  hesi- 
tated to  combine  the  most  conflicting  emotions.  But  here  the  success 
of  the  experiment  is  open  to  question. 

147  71-78.  Taken  from  the  first  legend  sent  to  Grose,  —  'a  stormy 
night  amid  whistUng  squalls  of  wind  and  bitter  blasts  of  hail,  —  in  short, 
on  such  a  night  as  the  devil  would  choose  to  take  the  air  in.' 

147  84.  crooning  .  .  .  Scots  sonnet :  '  Scots  '  is  the  more  correct  form 
of  the  adj.,  still  preserved  in  '  Scots  law,' '  Scots  guards,'  etc.  The  form 
'Scottish'  is  also  legitimate,  but  'Scotch'  is  a  later  corruption  to  suit 
the  parallel  forms  '  French,' '  Welsh,'  etc.  Sonnet  is  used  in  its  freer 
sense.  It  is  a  question  whether  it  was  the  swats  or  fear  that  made 
Tam  sing. 

147  85.  glowrin  round:  Burns  himself  had  a  vein  of  superstition,  as 
he  confesses  in  his  Letter  to  Dr.  Moore  (Aug.  2,  1787),  —  'To  this  hour 
in  my  nocturnal  rambles  I  sometimes  keep  a  sharp  look-out  in  suspicious 
places';  cf.  D.  and  Dr.  H.,  17,  p.  21,  — 

'An'  hillocks,  stanes,  an'  bushes  ken'd  aye 
Frae  ghaists  and  witches.' 

147  87.  Kirk-AUoway :  it  is  now  a  ruin,  and  in  Burns's  day,  though 
it  had  a  roof,  it  was  a  deserted  centre  of  superstitious  fears  and  rumors. 
Round  it  lies  the  churchyard,  and  the  so-called  Burns  cottage  is  near  by. 

147  89.  By  this  time  :  the  ground  referred  to  is  now  all  private  and 
enclosed  property,  and  is  so  changed  that  it  is  impossible  to  trace  Tam's 
steps.  This  cumulation  of  subsidiary  effects  is  after  the  manner  of 
Shakspere,  and  the  device  is  repeated  later,  11.  131-140. 

148  105.  Inspiring,  etc.:  so  in  the  first  legend  of  his  letter  to  Grose, 
the  plowman  had  got  '  courageously  drunk  at  the  smithy.' 

148  110.  Fair  play  :  '  so  long  as  things  went  fair  and  square  ' ;  or  it 
may  be  a  mere  exclamation.     The  s  of  deils  is  a  phonetic  accretion. 

148  116.  Nae  cotillon:  cf.  what  he  says  in  a  letter  from  a  place  un- 
known during  his  mysterious  rush  to  the  West  Highlands  (June  30, 
1787):  'Our  dancing  was  none  of  the  French  and  English  insipid,  formal 
movements ;  we  flew  at  Bab  at  the  Bowster,  TuUochgorum,  etc.,  etc' 

149  120.     Auld  Nick  is  Scandinavian,  but  the  pipes  are  Celtic. 


236  NOTES. 

149  127.     cantraip  sleight :  cf.  'magic  sleights,'  Macbeth,  Act  iii,  v.  26, 

149  130.     holy  table  :  the  communion  table. 

149  131-8.  A  reminiscence  of  the  witches'  hell  broth  in  Macbeth, 
Act  iv,  sc.  I. 

149  140.  Here  Burns  originally  had  two  more  couplets  upon  '  three 
lawyers'  tongues  seamed  with  lies,'  and  '  three  priests'  hearts  rotten.' 

149  143.  As  Tammie  glowr'd  :  to  illustrate  the  creative  growth  of 
the  tale  in  Burns's  mind,  cf.  this  with  the  bare  statement  in  the  prose 
version:  '  The  farmer,  stopping  his  horse  to  observe  them  a  little,  could 
plainly  descry  the  faces  of  many  old  women  of  his  acquaintance  and 
neighborhood.  How  the  gentleman  was  dressed  tradition  does  not  say, 
but  the  ladies  were  all  in  their  smocks.'  This,  it  is  said,  was  the  point 
in  the  composition  where  Burns  found  rehef  in  gesticulation,  and  finally 
in  frantic  tears  as  he  came  to  '  Now,  Tam  !  O,  Tarn  ! '  etc. 

149  154.  seventeen  hunder  linen :  linen  woven  in  a  reed  of  1 700 
divisions,  consequently  very  fine;  cf.  '  twal  hunder  linen.' 

150  158.  burdies :  see  Vocab.,  and  cf.  Campbell's  Lord  Ulliti's 
Daughter,  — 

'And  by  my  word  the  bonny  burd 
In  danger  shall  not  tarry.' 

150  164.  ae  winsome  wench  and  walie :  contrary  to  his  custom, 
Burns  does  not  acknowledge  that  this  line  is  Ramsay's. 

150  177.     twa  pund  Scots:  y.  A,d.  English  money;  eighty  cents. 

150  219-220.  The  prose  version  closes  more  naturally  :  '  The  unsightly 
tailless  condition  of  the  vigorous  steed  was  an  awful  warning  to  the 
Carrick  farmers  not  to  stay  too  late  at  Ayr  markets.' 


BONIE   DOON   (1791,   March). 

There  are  three  versions  of  this  song, —  (i)  a  rough  copy  sent  to 
Alex.  Cunningham,  March  11,  which  he  improved  into  (2)  the  version 
of  the  text,  and  (3)  the  altered  and  less  perfect  version  generally  known. 
No.  I  is  here  quoted  to  show  this  winged  creature  in  its  unawakened 
chrysalis.     It  consists  of  two  twelve-line  stanzas : 

'  Sweet  are  the  banks  —  the  banks  o'  Doon, 
The  spreading  flowers  are  fair, 
And  everything  is  blithe  and  glad 
But  I  am  fou  o'  care. 


NOTES.  237 

Thou  '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie  bird 

That  sings  upon  the  bough  ; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days 

When  my  fause  love  was  true. 
Thou  '11  break  my  heart,  thou  bonie  bird 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate, 
For  sae  I  sat  an'  sae  I  sang 

An'  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 

'Aft  hae  I  roved  by  bonie  Doon 

To  see  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  love. 

And  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Upon  its  thorny  tree. 
But  my  fause  lover  staw  my  rose 

And  left  the  thorn  wi'  me : 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose 

Upon  a  morn  in  June, 
And  sae  I  flourished  in  the  morn, 

And  sae  was  pu'd  or  noon.' 

Until  Mr.  Scott  Douglas's  edition  appeared,  this  lyric  was  chronologi- 
cally misplaced  by  four  years,  and  had  a  touching  association  with  the 
bitterly  real  romance  of  Miss  Margaret  Kennedy,  the  'bonie  young 
I'eggy  '  of  an  earlier  song  of  Bums.  That  association  is  now  shown  to 
be  fanciful,  and  we  are  indebted  to  its  editor  for  the  history  and  trans- 
formations of  the  poem.  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Douglas,  not  content  to 
let  well  alone,  must  not  only  furnish  a  new  and  'original'  melody,  but, 
in  order  to  accommodate  this  poor  music,  and  at  the  same  time  obviate 
his  objection  that  the  closing  couplet  of  Burns's  rough  copy  is  'a  very 
palpable  instance  of  the  "  art  of  sinking  "  from  pathos  to  bathos,'  must 
'  restore  '  Burns's  perfect  lyric  with  an  original  variation  that  makes  even 
bathos  pathetic. 

152  5.     Thou '11  break:  the  grammar  here  should  be  noted. 

1.S2  6.  bough  :  a  Scotsman  would  ordinarily  say  '  brainch,'  but  if  he 
used  this  word  he  would  pronounce  it  'boo.'  It  therefore  rimes  with 
'true'  without  the  canine  howl  given  it  by  Mr.  Scott  Douglas, — 
'  bovv-oo.' 


238  NOTES. 


O   FOR   ANE-AND-TWENTY,   TAM    (1791). 

This  is  a  humorous  specimen  of  the  dramatic  ^  kind  of  which  the  fore- 
going is  the  best  pathetic  example.  But  it  is  difficult  to  draw  the  line 
between  the  personal  and  the  dramatic  songs.  Not  all  those  songs  are 
personal  in  which  he  gives  utterance  to  passion  in  the  language  of 
absolute  sincerity  ;  and  again  there  is  a  wealth  of  purely  personal  emo- 
tion in  songs  that  are  dramatic  in  form.  Bonie  Doon  is  as  genuine  as 
Ae  Fond  Kiss,  and  O  for  Ane-and-Twettty  is  not  less  so  than  O  Tibbie, 
I  Hae  Seen  the  Day.  Burns  had  the  dramatic  faculty  of  making  others' 
experience  real,  as  well  as  the  lyric  faculty  of  making  it  tuneful. 

153  3.  learn  :  good  Scotch.  A  rattlin  sang  is  one  with  '  go '  in  it. 
She  means  to  '  make  them  skip.' 

153  11.     spier:  ask  leave;  she  will  be  her  own  mistress. 

153  13.  a  wealthy  coof :  this  is  the  converse  of  Tibbie,  where  he 
says  with  the  same  lightness,  — 

'  Ye  geek  at  me  because  I  'm  poor, 
But  fient  a  hair  care  I.' 


FLOW   GENTLY,    SWEET  AFTON   (1791  [.?]). 

This  song  is  generally  known  among  Scots  people  by  the  name  A/ton 
Water.  '  A  kind  of  holy  calm  pervades  the  soul  of  the  reader  who  pe- 
ruses, or  the  auditor  who  listens  to  the  music  of  this  unique  strain. 
The  "  pastoral  melancholy  "  which  Wordsworth  felt  at  St.  Mary's  Loch 
steals  over  his  heart  and  laps  him  in  a  dreamy  elysium  of  sympathetic 
repose '  (Scott  Douglas's  note).  It  is  a  fine  example  of  Burns's  lyric 
power  in  English,  and  a  good  offset  to  his  statement  to  Thomson 
(Oct.  19,  1794),  —  'These  English  songs  gravel  me  to  death:  I  have 
not  that  command  of  the  language  that  I  have  of  my  native  tongue.' 

Gilbert  Burns  said  that  the  song  referred  to  Highland  Mary  ;  Currie, 
followed  by  Lockhart,  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Stewart  of  Stair  (see  B.  A.,  204, 
p.  116);  but  the  circumstantials  of  the  song  do  not  harmonize  with 
either  of  these  claims,  both  of  which  rest  on  the  assumption  that  the 
name  Afton  is  taken  from  Afton  Lodge,  near  Coilsfield,  and  not,  as  the 
text  clearly  bears,  to  Glen   Afton,  at  the  head    of   Nithsdale.      The 

1  The  word  is  used  in  the  sense  adopted  by  Browning  in  his  Dramatic  Lyrics. 


NOTES.  239 

heroine  was  probably  some  casual  fancy  of  the  poet's  New  Cumnock 
acquaintance  in  the  Vale  of  Afton  (see  Works,  II,  241). 


AE  FOND    KISS  (1791,  December  27). 

This  is  one  of  the  poet's  earliest  productions  after  his  removal  to 
Dumfries.  Its  subject,  Mrs.  Maclehose,  was  a  young  'grass  widow' 
whom  Burns  first  met  at  a  friend's  house  in  Edinburgh,  Dec.  4,  1784. 
They  were  mutually  smitten,  the  lady  more  deeply,  but  the  poet  with 
greater  gush.  Then  began  a  correspondence  in  some  respects  beautiful 
and  touching  as  the  romantic  epistolary  of  Heloi'se,  in  others  among 
the  most  nauseating  in  literature.  Burns,  under  the  name  of  Sylvan- 
der,  wrote  to  Mrs.  Maclehose  as  Clarinda  almost  every  day,  and  some- 
times twice  a  day,  for  a  period  of  three  months.  They  were  both  in 
Edinburgh,  but  they  behaved  like  boy  and  girl  lovers  who  are  not 
allowed  to  meet  too  often.  Clarinda  wrote  verses  to  Sylvander  and 
grew  eloquent  upon  '  Friendship's  pure  and  lasting  joys  ' ;  Sylvander 
replied  with  the  excited  ardors  of  a  youth  of  eighteen.  She  also  worked 
upon  his  religious  sentiment,  and,  while  she  subdued  his  passion,  fed  it 
into  an  infatuation  that  blinded  his  common  sense.  Burns  told  Mrs. 
Maclehose  all  about  Jean  Armour,  and  when  he  decided  to  go  back  to 
the  woman  who  had  sacrificed  all  for  him,  and  give  her  honorable 
marriage,  Mrs.  Maclehose  wrote  to  him  that  he  was  a  villain.  Their 
Arcadian  love  thus  ended,  but  their  friendship  was  renewed  in  the 
autumn  of  1791,  when  Burns  revisited  Edinburgh  on  other  business. 
Mrs.  Maclehose  was  then  about  to  sail  for  the  West  Indies  to  join  her 
husband,  and  Burns  took  farewell  of  her.  On  his  return  to  Dumfries 
he  sent  her  this  song.  Clarinda  sailed  in  February.  Six  months  later 
she  returned  to  Edinburgh,  and  lived  there  to  the  age  of  eighty-three, 
but  she  and  Burns  never  met  again.     But  see  My  Nanie  'j  Awa,  note. 

154  9.  I  '11  ne'er  blame  :  he  uses  the  same  expression  in  his  letter 
of  March  9,    1789,  in   which  he  replies  to  the  lady's  charge  of  villainy. 

155  13-16.  These  four  lines  were  prefixed  by  Byron  to  his  Btide  of 
Abydos.  Scott  said  that  they  contained  '  the  essence  of  a  thousand 
love-tales.'  Mrs.  Jameson's  language  was  even  stronger,  —  'the  essence 
of  an  existence  of  pain  and  pleasure  distilled  into  one  burning  drop.' 


240  NOTES. 


THE   DEUK'S    DANG   O'ER   MY    DADDIE  (1792). 

This  song,  which  first  appeared  in  Johnson's  Ahiseum,  is  founded  on 
an  old  ballad,  set  to  a  melody  which  is  found  in  Playford's  Danchig 
Master  (1657),  entitled  'The  Buff  Coat.'  The  second  four  lines  of  that 
ballad  run,  — 

'  The  bairns  they  a'  set  up  the  cry, 

"  The  deuk's  dang  o'er  my  daddie,  O." 
"  There 's  no  meikle  matter,"  quo'  the  gudewife, 

"  He's  aye  been  a  daidlin  body,  O." ' 

For  a  companion  study,  ready.?//;?  Anderson  my  Jo. 

155  2.     dang  :  the  more  correct  participle  would  be  dung. 


THE   DEIL'S    AWA    WF   THE   EXCISEMAN    (1792,  Feb.   27). 

Lockhart  gives  a  circumstantial  account  of  the  composition  of  this 
song,  furnished  him  by  Supervisor  Train,  who  succeeded  Lewars,  Burns's 
associate.  A  smuggling  brig  was  stranded  in  the  Firth  of  Sohvay,  and 
as  she  promised  fight,  Lewars  went  to  Dumfries  for  a  squad  of  Dra- 
goons. Burns  grew  impatient  at  his  delay,  and  composed  the  song 
while  pacing  up  and  down  the  shingly  beach.  This  was  the  brig,  four 
of  whose  cannon  Burns  bought  and  sent  to  the  French  Assembly  with 
his  compliments. 

The  idea  of  the  devil  dancing  away  with  an  Exciseman,  however, 
occurs  in  a  song  current  before  Burns's  day,  written  by  one  Thomas 
Whittell,  a  Northumberland  poet,  who  died  in  1736.  The  first  stanza 
runs,  — 

'  Did  you  not  hear  of  a  new  found  dance 
That  lately  was  devised  on. 
And  how  the  Devil  was  tired  out 
By  dancing  with  an  Exciseman  ? ' 

156  1.  fiddling:  Scotch  Puritanism  ms^Ae  t\).e  Md\e par  excellence 
the  devil's  instrument,  chiefly  on  account  of  its  association  with  dancing  ; 
but  in   Tarn  d"  Shunter  the  fiend  plays  the  bagpipe. 

156  13.     reels:  cf.  Tam  d  Shanter,  117,  note: 

'  But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels.' 


NOTES.  241 


BESSY    AND    HER    SPINNIN    WHEEL   (1792,  Summer). 

Into  this  song  of  perfect  rural  peace  neither  love  nor  any  other  dis- 
turbing element  enters  (see  notes  to  For  a'  That). 

156  2.     rock  and  reel :  '  distaff  and  spindle  ';  see  Ep.  L.,  i,  note. 

157  25-26.     sma' :    'little.'     Cf.  Ben  Jonson's  saying  of   Shakspere, 
'  Small  Latin  and  less  Greek.'     Note  the  French  accent  of  envy. 


BONIE    LESLEY    (1792,  August). 

On  the  22d  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  enclosing  this  song,  which  he 
had  composed  a  few  days  before  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Baillie  and  his  two  daughters  on  their  way  to  England.  Burns  had 
been  smitten  with  spasms  of  admiration  for  Miss  Lesley  Baillie,  — '  So 
delighting  and  so  pure  were  the  emotions  of  my  soul,'  he  says.  He 
'  convoyed  '  the  party  fifteen  miles  on  their  way,  and  as  he  rode  home  the 
old  ballad  of  Lizzie  Baillie  floated  through  his  mind  and  crooned  itself 
into  this  song.     The  ballad  begins,  — 

'  O  bonie  Lizzie  Baillie, 

I  '11  rowe  thee  in  my  plaidie.' 

158  5-6.     Adapted  from  Ae  Fond  Kiss,  ii,  12,  p.  154. 

158  8.  Thomson  would  have  altered  this  to,  '  And  ne'er  made  sic 
anither';  but  Burns  defended  his  own  line  as  '  more  poetical.' 

158  13-16.  For  this  quaintly  original  conceit,  cf.  Co" the  Yowes,  17-20, 
p.  166. 

158  22.  Caledonia:  here  again  Thomson  objected,  but  l!urns  again 
defended  the  word  on  the  sanction  given  it  by  Ramsay. 

In  September  of  this  year  began  his  connection  with  Mr.  George 
Thomson,  who  was  editing  a  collection  of  Scottish  music,  a  work  of  the 
same  kind  as  Johnson's  Museum,  but  meant  to  be  of  a  higher  tone. 
For  this  work  Burns  wrote  in  all  65  songs.  When  soliciting  Burns's 
aid  in  the  work  Thomson  had  stipulated, —  'One  thing  only  I  beg,  that 
however  gay  and  sportive  the  muse  may  be,  she  may  always  be  decent. 
Let  her  not  write  what  beauty  would  blush  to  speak,  nor  wound  that 
charming  delicacy  which  forms  the  most  precious  dowry  of  our 
daughters'  {Letter  of  Thomson  to  Burns,  Oc\..  13,  1792).  The  .same 
gentleman  also  recommended  English  songs   (which  Burns  found  so 


242  NOTES. 

troublesome  to  compose),  probably  because  the  Scottish  muse  was  too 
little  of  a  prude.  Burns  objected  to  his  fastidiousness,  but  he  himself 
had  already  for  years  past,  and  that  without  making  the  least  concession 
to  pod-snappery,  been  giving  Scottish  song  a  KdOapcris,  or  clarification, 
both  poetical  and  ethical,  which  finds  its  best  parallel  in  what  Shaks- 
pere  did  for  English  drama. 


MY   AIN   KIND   DEARIE    (1792,  October). 

This  is  the  first  song  he  wrote  specially  for  Thomson,  though  he  had 
sent  others  composed  earlier.  A  light  pastoral  song  to  the  same  tune, 
T/ie  Lea-rig,  had  appeared  in  the  first  volume  of  Johnson's  Museum. 
This  was  by  Fergusson,  and  may  have  been  the  one  Burns  had  been 
'  reading  over.'  There  is,  however,  an  older  ballad,  more  beautiful  than 
Fergusson's,  but  rather  broad,  beginning,  — 

'  I  '11  rowe  thee  owre  the  lea-rig.' 

159  5.  scented  birks:  var.  'birken  buds,'  which  is  not  consistent 
with  the  dewy  time  of  year. 

159  6.     clear:  '  shining,'  'bright,'  as  commonly. 

159  17.  The  hunter:  this  stanza  was  added  December  i.  Burns 
was  no  sportsman,  and  habitually  inveighed  against  field  sports,  but  he 
sometimes  handled  a  fishing  rod.  The  story  of  the  Englishmen,  how- 
ever, who  claimed  to  have  found  him  fishing  up  a  tree  with  a  claymore 
is  too  silly. 


HIGHLAND   MARY    (1792,  October). 

Sent  to  Thomson  November  14.  For  the  story,  see  notes  to  71? 
Ma7y  and  To  Mary  in  Heaven.  This  song,  too,  was  written  about  the 
time  of  year  of  Mary's  death,  and  though  his  surroundings  were  entirely 
different,  the  same  recollections,  scenery,  and  sentiment  recur.  In- 
spired by  the  same  idealized  memory,  this  song  is  a  far  higher  flight 
than  To  Mary  in  Heaven.  It  was  composed  to  a  melody,  Catherine 
Ogie,  one  of  the  oldest  preserved  Scottish  melodies,  and  so  beautifully 
plaintive  that  it  draws  tears  to  the  cheeks  of  old  men.  Burns  thought 
it  was  '  in  his  happiest  manner.'  It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  the 
artist's  passionate  music  of  language  here  rises  superior  to  the  shackles 
of  rhyme. 


NOTES.  243 

DUNCAN   GRAY    (1792,  December). 

There  was  an  old  ribald  ditty  of  the  same  name  and  air  printed  in 
Johnson's  Musetim.  Burns  adopted  the  first  quatrain.  His  version  is 
one  of  the  best  illustrations  of  the  KaOapffts  referred  to  in  the  note 
before  Afy  Ain  Kind  Dearie.  In  his  note  of  December  4,  Burns  says  : 
*  Duncan  Gray  is  a  light-horse  gallop  of  an  air  which  precludes  senti- 
ment ' ;  but  he  has  succeeded  in  giving  it  a  humor  both  rich  and  tender. 

160  2.  o't:  'of  it';  an  idiomatic  phrase,  really  redundant,  but 
giving  a  certain  dramatic  round-off  to  an  expression. 

161  5.     hiegh  :   the  rime  is  gutteral ;  pron. 'heech.' 

161  11.  Ailsa  Craig:  a  rocky  islet  in  the  Firth  of  Clyde,  off  Ayr- 
shire. 

161  15.  spak  0'  .  .  .  :  i.e.,  '  drowning  himself.'  Hon.  Andrew  Ers- 
kine  said  this  was  '  a  line  which  itself  should  make  him  immortal.' 

161  17.     tide:  i.e.,  it  ebbs  and  flows  and  brings  reversals. 

162  39.  baith:  here  a  conjunction;  idiomatic  Scotch  order  for 
'baith  crouse  and  canty.' 


GALA    WATER    (1793,  January). 

There  were  several  versions  of  an  old  song,  one  of  which  is  given  by 
Herd  as  the  oldest ;  another  is  quoted  by  Mr.  Scott  Douglas ;  and  there 
was  at  least  one  more.  The  Brazv,  Braw  Lass  d'  Gala  Water.  Burns 
first  modified  the  old  song  and  then  rewrote  it.  The  subject  is  a  remi- 
niscence of  his  Border  tour  of  May,  1787.  The  song  is  a  remarkable 
adaptation  of  words  and  sentiment  to  the  melody,  which  is  old  and  was 
a  favorite  of  Haydn's. 

162  1-2.     Var.     '  There 's  braw  .  .  .     They  wander.' 
162  3.     Yarrow  .  .  .  Ettrick :  some  of  the  finest  of  the  Border  min- 
strelsy is  associated  with  the  'dowie  dens  o'  V'arrow.'    Ettrick  is  another 
district  on  Tweedside,  renowned  in  Border  song  and  the  mother  country 
of  James  Hogg, '  the  Ettrick  Shepherd.' 

162  4.  Gala  Water:  a  tributary  of  the  Tweed.  'Water'  is  the 
general  name,  =  '  river,'  e.g..  Water  Tay  ;  cf.  the  philologically  famous 
Wansliechuater  in  the  north  of  England  ;  but  there  the  usage  varies, 
e.g.,  UUswater  is  a  lake. 


244  NOTES. 


WANDERING   WILLIE  (1793,  March). 

An  old  song  of  the  same  name  (pubHshed  in  Herd's  collection)  gave 
Burns  the  suggestion  and  the  first  two  lines. 

162  2.  haud  awa :  idiomatic  Sc.  for  '  take  the  road,'  '  make  tracks.' 

163  8.  The  simmer:  Thomson's  correction,  'As  simmer  .  .  .  so,' 
destroys  the  fine  beauty  of  the  implied  comparison,  by  rendering  it  ex- 
plicit. 


WHISTLE,   AND    I'LL   COME   TO   YOU,   MY   LAD 

(1793,  August). 

This  song  was  inspired  by  Jean  Lorimer,  for  some  time  his  reigning 
beauty,  and  the  subject  of  about  a  dozen  of  his  songs.  The  title  and 
melody  are  old. 

162  1.     Van: 

'  O  whistle  and  I  '11  come  to  you,  my  jo, 
O  whistle  and  I  '11  come  to  you,  my  jo  ; 
Though  father  an'  mither  an'  a'  should  say  no. 

Thy  Jeanie  will  venture  wi'  ye,  my  jo.' 

163  6-7.  yett  .  .  .  style  :  the  meaning  is  plain  enough,  but  the  local 
particulars  are  not  quite  clear. 

]  63  9.  kirk  .  .  .  market :  the  two  great  rendezvous  of  Scotch 
country  people. 

In  singing,  the  last  line  of  each  quatrain  is  repeated. 


SCOTS    WHA    HAE    (1793,  Aug.  31). 

The  original  title  is  Robert  Bruce's  March  to  Baiinockhirn.  The 
germ  of  the  ode  may  be  found  in  the  entry  of  his  journal  for  the  first  day 
of  his  Highland  tour,  Aug.  25,  1787,  when  he  visited  the  field  of  Ban- 
nockburn.  '  Here  no  Scot  can  pass  uninterested.  I  fancy  to  myself 
that  I  can  see  my  gallant,  heroic  countrymen  coming  down  upon  the 
plunderers  of  their  country,  the  murderers  of  their  fathers,  noble  revenge 
and  just  hate  glowing  in  every  vein,  striding  more  eagerly  as  they 
approach  the  oppressive,  insulting,  bloodthirsty  foe.'  In  writing  to 
Thomson,  Sept.  i,  1793,  he  mentions  a  tradition  that  the  air,  '  Hey 
tuttie,  taitie,'  was  Bruce's  March  at  Bannockburn.i     '  This  thought  in 

*  Cromek  points  out  the  absurdity  of  this ;  the  only  martial  music  the  Scots  had  in 
Bruce's  days  was  what  could  be  produced  from  bullocks'  horns. 


I 


NOTES.  245 

my  yesternight's  evening  walk  warmed  me  to  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm  .  .  . 
which  I  threw  into  a  kind  of  Scotch  ode  that  one  might  suppose  to  be 
the  royal  Scot's  Address  on  that  eventful  morning.'  The  sensational 
story  of  its  composition,  which  Carlyle  is  mainly  responsible  for  propa- 
gating, —  '  dithyrambic  on  horseback,' '  wildest  Galloway  moor,' '  throat 
of  the  whirlwind,'  etc.,  etc.,  —  finds  no  support  from  Burns's  own  account, 
and  it  is  contradicted  by  what  he  repeatedly  says  about  his  methods 
of  composition. 

William  Wordsworth  objected  to  this  song  as  '  little  more  than  school- 
boy rodomontade.'  But  the  only  essential  of  a  song  is  that  it '  sing,'  i.e., 
have  not  merely  lyrical  but  musical  emotion  ;  and  about  the  singing 
quality  of  Scots  IVha  Hae  there  is  no  shadow  of  doubt.  It  is  remark- 
able, however,  that  the  melody,  which  Burns  said  had  often  filled  his  eyes 
with  tears,  should,  with  all  its  suggestion  of  the  defiant  blare  of  trumpets, 
be  the  identical  melody  of  the  Laftd  o'  the  Leal,  one  of  the  most  plain- 
tive of  all  songs.  Urbani  noticed  the  delicacy  of  the  melody  and  begged 
Burns  to  compose  soft  verses  to  it  ;  but  Burns  took  fire  differently. 

164  7.  Edward's  power:  in  1314  Edward  II  marched  into  Scotland 
with  100,000  men  to  relieve  an  English  garrison  in  Stirling  Castle  and 
reduce  the  country.  Bruce  met  him  with  30,000  on  the  field  of  Ban- 
nockburn,  and  gained  a  victory  which  decided  the  independence  of 
Scotland,  acknowledged  by  England  fourteen  years  later. 

164  16.  Var.  'Let  him  on  wi'  me!'  Most  of  the  other  variations 
are  due  to  the  persistent  obtuseness  of  Thomson. 

164  21-24.  '  I  have  borrowed  the  last  stanza  from  the  common  stall 
edition  of  Wallace''  [see  Ep.  W.  S.,  15,  note]: 

'  A  false  usurper  sinks  in  every  foe. 
And  liberty  returns  with  every  blow,'  —  B. 


THE  LOVELY  LASS  OF  INVERNESS  (1794,  Spring). 

This  is  another  reminiscence  of  his  Highland  tour.  The  entry  in 
his  Journal  (Sept.  6,  1787)  states  that  he  'came  over  Culloden  Moor,' 
and  had  'reflections  on  the  field  of  battle.'  There  was  an  old  song  of 
the  same  name,  but  only  four  lines  of  it  were  left. 

165  5.  Drumossie  Moor :  another  name  for  Culloden,  where  the 
Jacobite  rebellion  of  1745-6  was  crushed. 


246  NOTES. 


CA'  THE   YOWES   TO   THE   KNOWES  (1794,  September). 

In  1787  Burns  made  a  note  of  this  lovely  melody  and  of  words  some- 
times attributed  to  wild  Tibbie  Pagan  ;  in  1790  he  made  some  alterations 
and  additions  and  sent  it  to  Johnson  ;  now '  in  a  solitary  stroll '  he  added 
the  walk  at  fauldin-time  and  the  mavis'  evening  sang,  the  glimpses  of  the 
moon  on  water  and  Abbey  ruin,  where  the  fairies  dance  on  dewsprent 
flowers,  the  prayer  for  protection  from  unholy  influences  and  then  the 
cry  of  utter  love  ;  we  can  see  the  song  tremble,  breathe,  and  start 
blushing  into  warm  life  in  his  hands. 

165  13.  Cluden's  .  .  .  towers  :  the  ruins  of  Lincluden  Abbey  at  the 
confluence  of  the  Cluden  and  the  Nith. 

166  17.  ghaist  nor  bogle :  for  similar  guardianship  from  malevolent 
spirits,  cf .  Shakspere's  song  in  Cymbeline,  — 

'  No  exorciser  harm  thee 
Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee.' 


THE   WINTER  OF   LIFE  (1794,  Oct.  19). 

Burns  wrote  this  to  an  air  which  he  called  'a  musical  curiosity, —  an 
East  Indian  air  which  you  would  swear  was  a  Scottish  one.' 

The  verses  are  '  dramatic,'  but  there  is  a  strong  undercurrent  of  per- 
sonal feeling  (cf.  note  on  O  For  Ane-and-Twenty,  Tarn).  Very  early 
Burns  could  moralize  with  effect  on  youthful  folly  and  the  evanescence 
of  its  joys.  Now  he  knew  that  he  was  about  to  suffer  for  those  follies, 
and  already  he  felt  the  chills  of  premature  old  age  stiffening  his  frame. 
On  June  25  of  this  year  he  had  written  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  — '  To  tell  you 
that  I  have  been  in  poor  health  will  not  be  excuse  enough  for  neglecting 
your  correspondence,  though  it  is  true.  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  about  to 
suffer  for  the  follies  of  my  youth.'  In  this  connection  the  student 
should  read  his  noble  letter  to  Mr.  Cunningham,  Feb.  25,  1794. 

166  15-16.     Cf.  Afafi  was  Made  to  Mourn,  27,  28  : 

'  Miss-spending  all  thy  precious  hours, 
Thy  glorious  youthful  prime.' 


4 


NOTES.  247 


CONTENTED   WI'   LITTLE  (1794,  November). 

In  a  letter  of  May,  1795,  Burns  refers  to  this  song  as  '  a  picture  of 
his  mind.'  Cunningham  says  it  was  written  when  'the  frozen  finger  of 
the  Excise  pointed  to  a  supervisorship.'  But  the  mood  is  a  characteris- 
tic one.     Cf.  Rantin  Rovin  Robin,  17,  18,  p.  16  : 

'  He  '11  hae  misfortunes  great  and  sma', 
But  aye  a  heart  aboon  them  a'. 


MY   NANIE  'S   AWA   (1794). 

Sent  to  Thomson  in  December,  but  the  song  may  have  been  com- 
posed earlier,  and  he  doubtless  had  Mrs.  Maclehose  in  mind.  In  one 
of  Clarinda's  letters  (January,  1788)  a  passage  occurs  which  evidently 
furnished  the  motive  of  this  composition,  — '  Oh,  let  the  scenes  of 
nature  remind  you  of  Clarinda :  in  winter  remember  the  dark  shades 
of  her  fate  ;  in  summer,  the  warmth  of  her  friendship  ;  in  autumn,  her 
■5lowing  wishes  to  bestow  plenty  on  all;  and  let  spring  animate  you 
with  the  hopes  that  your  friend  may  yet  surmount  the  wintry  blasts  of 
life.'  Burns  replied,  —  'I  shall  certainly  steal  it  and  set  it  in  some 
future  production,  and  get  immortal  fame  by  it.' 

167  1-2.  arrays  .  .  .  listens :  the  first  is  intrans.,  the  second  trans., 
'listens  to.'  The  freedom  of  construction  permitted  in  Scotch  made 
Burns  occasionally  twist  English  to  suit  his  convenience. 


A    MAN  'S    A    MAN   FOR   A'   THAT  (1795,  Jan.  1). 

'  This  piece  is  no  song,  but  will  be  allowed,  I  think,  to  be  two  or  three 
pretty  good  prose  thoughts  put  into  rhyme.  I  do  not  give  you  the  song 
for  your  book,  but  merely  by  way  of  vive  la  bagatelle,  for  the  piece  is 
not  really  poetry'  {Letter  to  Thomson,  January  15).  If  not  a  song,  and 
it  is  more  suitable  for  declamation  than  for  singing,  this  lyric  contains 
the  double-distilled  essence  of  the  spirit  that  produced  American  inde- 
pendence. The  sentiment  was  not  uncommon  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
but  it  was  only  a  fashion.  It  served  to  give  a  turn  to  rhetorical  coujilets, 
but  it  meant  nothing  to  Europe  until  the  Vz-vvsAZXi  faubourgs  took  up  the 


248  NOTES. 

cry  in  deadly  earnest.  In  this  year  the  French  revolutionary  spirit  was 
finding  its  chief  apostle  in  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  and  here  the  blaze  of 
Liberie,  Egalite,  Fraternite,  is  concentrated  into  a  burning  focus. 

168  17.  Ye  see:  Burns  knew  that  a  'lord'  need  not  be  a  'coof,' 
but  not  even  the  friendship  of  men  like  Glencairn  subdued  his  inveter- 
ate jealousy  of  rank  and  social  superiority. 

169  25-28.     Cf.  C.  S.  N.,  165-6,  and  note, — 

'  Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 
"  An  honest  man 's  the  noblest  work  of  God." ' 


THE   LASS    OF   ECCLEFECHAN    (1795,  February). 

In  a  note  to  Thomson  of  this  date,  the  poet  described  himself  as 
snowed  up  and  driven  to  distraction  in  this  '  unfortunate,  wicked  little 
village,'  and  he  elsewhere  gives  the  village  a  bad  name  for  drunkenness. 
The  place  is  now  better  known  as  the  birthplace  of  Thomas  Carlyle, 
whose  parents  were  resident  there,  and  who  was  himself  born  in  Decem- 
ber of  this  year.  Carlyle's  father  saw  Burns  and  noted  the  fact  with 
indifference. 

For  this  lively  matrimonial  skirmish,  cf.  The  Deiik  'j  Dang  O'er  My 
Daddie,  p.  155.  The  proud  little  beauty  in  a  fit  of  temper  twits  her 
husband  with  the  '  tocher'  she  brought  him  besides  her  'bonie  sel.'  In 
the  second  stanza  the  'worser  half  retaliates  with  another  treasure  he 
has  in  his  eye  if  he  only  saw  the  '  green  graff '  growing  over  her. 

169  8.  toss:  'toast.'  Cf.  '  An' yon  the  toast  of  a' the  town,' — Mary 
Morison. 


LAST    MAY   A   BRAW   WOOER    (1795). 

An  imitation  of  the  old  ballad  song  like  Tak  Your  Auld  Cloak  About 
Ye,  Muirland  Willie,  &X.c.  Cf.  Tarn  Glen.  Its  humor  and  ««zz'^/'/ are 
well  suited  in  the  melody. 

170  18.  lang  loan:  Burns's  original  reading  was  '  Gateslack,'  the 
name  of  a  picturesque  pass  in  the  Lowther  hills.  Thomson  prevailed 
upon  Burns  to  alter  the  word,  which  he  did,  under  protest,  into  '  lang 
loan.'     But  a  touch  of  locality  is  thereby  lost. 


NOTES.  249 

171  22.  Dalgarnock :  the  name  of  a  romantic  spot  near  the  Nith, 
with  the  ruins  of  a  church  and  an  old  burial  ground  still  to  be  seen. 
The  tryste,  or  market,  was  held  near  by. 

171  33.     Popular  usage  has  made  this  line,  — 

'  And  how  my  auld  shoon  -fitted  her  schachl'  feet.' 

The  point  of  this  change  is  that  '  auld  shoon '  is  a  familiar  expression 
for  a  rejected  lover  who  pays  his  addresses  to  another.  No  wonder, 
then,  he  '  fell  a-swearin.' 


EPISTLE  TO  COLONEL  DE  PEYSTER  (1796,  early  in  the  year). 

The  circumstances  are  those  of  the  first  stanza :  Burns  was  now  suf- 
fering from  his  mortal  sickness. 

Colonel  de  Peyster  was  commandant  of  the  Gentlemen  Volunteers  of 
Dumfries,  a  company  raised  in  the  previous  year  on  the  scare  of  inva- 
sion from  France.  Burns  was  a  private  in  that  corps,  and  in  its  honor 
had  written  a  stirring  battle-cry,  Does  Haughty  Gaul  Invasion  Threat? 
This  was  the  company  Burns  referred  to  when  he  said  on  his  death-bed, 
'  Don't  let  the  awkward  squad  fire  over  me.' 

173  38.     on  a  tangs  :  i.e.,  being  singed  previous  to  cooking. 


GLOSSARY. 


A.S.  =  Anglo-Saxon;  M.E.  =  Middle  English  ;  O.N.  =  Old  Norse  ;  Norw.  =  Nor- 
wegian ;  Dan.  Danish;  Sw.  =  Swedish;  Du.  =  Dutch;  C.  =  Celtic;  Fr.=  French; 
M.L.G.  =  Middle  Low  German  ;  unk.  =  unknown;  wh.  =  whence. 


I 
t 


a-,  prefix  used  often  where  Eng. 
iises  be-,  as  in  afore,  ahittt,  ayont, 
aside. 

abeigh,  adv.  off,  aloof.  [Etym. 
dub.  Perh.  a,  on,  and  O.N.  bcig, 
fear.] 

aboon,  adv.  and  prep,  above. 
[M.E.  abowen,  aboven ;  A.S. 
abufan?^ 

abreed,  adv.  abroad.  \_a-  and 
braid :  ec  is  local.] 

acquent,  adj.  acquainted.  [For 
-ted,  see  Gram.  Introd.] 

ae,  adj.  one  :  also  used  to  inten- 
sify superlatives,  as  in  '  The  ae  best 
dance  '  {DeiTs  awa). 

a-fauldin, //■<:.  'a-folding,'  bring- 
ing the  sheep  to  fold. 

aff ,  adv.  and  prep.  off. 

afore,  adv.  and  prep,  before. 

aft,  aften,  adv.  often. 

agley,  agly,  adv.  amiss,  crook- 
edly \_glcy  to  squint;  M.E.  glien ; 
O.N.gi/a,  to  glitter]. 

ahint,  adv.  a.nd  prep,  behind. 

aiblins,  adv.  perhaps,  possibly. 
[ab/e  and  -iins,  wh.  see.] 

aik,  ft.  oak.  [A.S.  dc ;  cf.  O.N. 
ei^.] 


ain,  adj.  own.  [A.S.  dgen;  cf. 
O.N.  eigi7i.'\ 

aince,  see  ance. 

air,  see  ear. 

airn,  «.  iron.  [Cf.  O.N.  jdrn, 
older  form  earn.'] 

airt,  n.  direction,  quarter  of 
the  compass  :  v.  guide,  direct.  [C. 
aird.] 

aisle,  aizle,  n.  burning  ash, '  cin- 
der.'    [Also  m/^;  K.?>.  ysle.l 

aith,  ;/.  oath.  [A.S.  d&;  cf. 
O.N.  ei&-r.] 

aits,  n.  oats,  *corn.'  [A.S.  ate, 
tcte.\ 

aiver, ;/.  full-grown  horse.  [Also 
aver ;  O.Fr.  aver,  aveir,  havings, 
stock,  cattle.] 

ajee,  adv.  ajar.  \^jee  or  gee,  to 
stir.] 

amaist,  adv.  almost.  [See 
ntaist?\ 

amang,  prep,  among.  [A.S.  on- 
maftg-l 

an',  eo/ij.  and:  if,  'gin.'  [Cf. 
early  use  of  Eng.  and,  art.] 

anath^m,  v.  anathematize,  curse. 

ance,  aince,  adv.  once.  [Early 
form  attj's;  adv.  gen.  of  ane.] 


252 


GLOSSARY. 


ane,  adj.  one. 

anent,  prep,  relative  to,  about ; 
beside,  [cmeven  ;  A.S.  on  efen,07i 
enin,  on  even  (ground),  with  ex- 
crescent /.] 

anither,  adj.  another.  [See 
ither^ 

an's,  '  and  is.'  [See  Gram.  In- 
trod.] 

ase,  n.  ash,  ashes.     [A.S.  asce.l 

aside,  prep,  beside. 

asklent,  adv.  aslant,  sideways. 
[See  sklefit.'] 

asteerin,  ptc.  stirring,  moving. 
[A.S.  styrian.'\ 

attour,  prep,  or  adv.  out-over, 
besides.  [at-our,  at-owre ;  see 
owre^ 

aught  (pron.  acht),  adj.  eight. 
[M.E.  aht;  A.S.  eahta-l 

auld,  adj.  old.  [M.E.  aid;  A.S. 
eald,  aid.'] 

ava,  adv.  at  all.    \af  a'  =  of  all.] 

awa,  adv.  away. 

awnie,  adj.  bearded  (of  grain). 
\_azun,  beard  of  grain,  usu.  barley  ; 
O.N.  ogn,  T^l.agnar ;  Gothic  ahana.l 

ayont.  adv.  beyond.  [For  the 
t,  cf.  akitit.] 

Bab,  «.  knot  of  ribbons.  [Same 
as  bob;  M.E.  bobbe,  a  cluster;  cf. 
C.  babag."] 

backlins,  adv.  back.   [See  -Irns.'] 

bade,  v.  past  of  bide,  wh.  see. 

baggie,  «.  dim.  of  bag,  stomach. 

baillie,  n.  magistrate  next  to 
the  provost  in  a  royal  borough  : 
alderman.      [O.Fr.  bailll.] 

bairn,  u.  child.  [A.S.  beam ; 
O.N.  bartt.] 


bairn-teme,  )     offspring, brood. 

bairn-time,  >  [A.S.beam-leam.] 

baith,  adj.  and  cofij.  both. 
[M.E.  bd&e;  O.N.  bd&ar  (not 
A.S.  bdlTi'd).]. 

bake,  n.  biscuit. 

bands,  n.  Genevan  clerical  neck- 
tie worn  officially. 

bane,  n.  bone.  [A.S.  ban;  cf. 
O.N.  beln.] 

bang,  n.  knock.  [Cf.  O.N.  bang, 
hammering.] 

bardie,  n.  dim.  of  bard. 

barefit  (pron.  berfit),  adj.  bare- 
footed. 

barley-bree,  n.  malt-liquor.  [See 
bree.] 

barm,  «.  yeast,  barm.  [M.E. 
bernie ;  A.S.  beo7-ma.'] 

barmie,  adj.  fermented,  excited, 
active. 

bashin,  ptc.  of  bask,  knocking 
down  (grain),  reaping.  [.''Dan. 
baske,  to  beat.] 

batch,  K.  group,  gang.  [M.E. 
bacche,  a  quantity  baked  at  once  ; 
fr.  A.S.  bacen,  baked.] 

batts,  n.  botts,  colic. 

baudrons  (also  bauthrons),  «. 
cat.     [Prob.  €.] 

bauk,  n.  crossbeam.  [Same  as 
Eng.  balk ;  A.S.  balca?\ 

bauk-en',  n.  end  of  the  beam.  ■ 

bauld,  adj.  bold.  [A.S.  beald, 
bald.] 

bawsnt,  adj.  having  a  white 
spot  or  streak  on  the  face  (of  a 
cow,  etc.),  brindled,  blazed.  [O.Fr. 
bausa7it.'] 

bear,  bere,  n.  barley.  [A.S. 
bere.] 


GLOSSARY. 


253 


beast,  n.  a  full-grown  head  of 
stock. 

beet,  bait,  v.  to  help  by  adding, 
add  fuel  to,  incite.  [A.S.  betaii ; 
O.N.  bceta,  to  mend.] 

bein,  adj.  snug,  comfortable, 
well-to-do.  [M.E.  bene,  pleasant. 
Origin  unknown.] 

belang,  v.  belong  to. 

beld,  adj.  bald. 

belyve,  adv.  presently.  [M.E. 
bi  life,  '  with  life.'] 

ben,  adv.  and  prep,  into  the  in- 
terior, into  the  parlor.     [A.S.  be- 
innait,  binnan.'\      See  but. 
,  bere,  see  bear. 

besom,  n.  broom  ;  see  Ep.  D.  B., 
23,  note.      [A.S.  besema,  besfna.'] 

bethankit,  n.  'be  thanked': 
grace  after  meat. 

beuk,  see  buik. 

1.  bicker,  «.  a  wooden  cup. 
[O.N.  bikarr;  M.E.  biker;  Eng. 
beaker^ 

2.  bicker,  n.  a  hurried  run. 
[M.E.  biker,  to  skirmish.] 

bid,  V.  ask,  pray  for.  [A.S. 
biddan.'\ 

bide,  V.  wait  for,  endure,  '  thole.' 
[A.S.  bidan.l 

bield,  n.  shelter,  refuge.  [Perh. 
same  as  A.S.  bieldo,  M.E.  belde, 
boldness,  resource,  help.] 

bien,  see  bein.  [In  no  way 
conn.  w.  Fr.  bieti,  well.] 

big,  V.  build;  orig.  to  settle,  in- 
habit. [M.E.  bii^'-ge;  O.N.  bygy'a, 
to  inhabit,  build  {biia,  to  dwell).] 

biggin,  ;/.  building,  edifice. 
[From  above.] 

bill,  n.  bull.      [The  i  is  local.] 


billie,  ft.  fellow,  'chield.'  [Perh. 
same  word  as  bully.'] 

bing,  n.  heap  (of  grain,  etc.). 
[O.N.  biiig-r.'\ 

.     birk,    n.    birch.       [A.S.    beorc, 
bere ;  cf.  O.N.  bjdrk ;  Dan.  birk.] 

birkie,  n.  smart  young  fellow 
(in  both  good  and  bad  sen.se). 
[Etym.  unknown.] 

birr,  v.  'whirr.'     [Imit.  word.] 

bit,  used  idiom,  as  an  adj.=: 
little. 

bizz,  fi.  bustle,  flurry.  [Imit. 
word.] 

blae,  adj.  dark  blue,  Hvid.  [O.N. 
bld-r.] 

blastit,  adj.  withered ;  used  as  an 
epithet  of  condemnation.  Burns 
has  also  the  n.  blastie. 

blate,  adj.  shy,  bashful.  [Etym. 
dub.  Murray  rejects  A.S.  bleat, 
soft,  and  prefers  bldt,  pale.] 

blaud,  n.  large  piece,  fragment 
broken  off  by  a  stroke.  '  Screed  ' 
(of  writing) :  v.  to  strike,  abuse, 
beat  down  (as  windy  showers  on 
grain). 

blaw,  V.  blow;  boast.  [A.S. 
bldwani] 

bleer't,  ptc.  bleared.  [M.E. 
/'Aw;/.] 

bleeze,  ;/.  blaze.  [A.S.  blirse,  a 
torch.] 

blellum,  n.  idle  talker,  'blather- 
skite.' 

1.  blether,  v.  talk  nonsense. 

2.  blether,  n.  bladder.  [O.N. 
bld&ra  ;  A.S.  bliedre.] 

blethers,  «.  nonsense.  [O.N. 
bla&ra.  For  vowel,  cf.  gather, 
gether.] 


254 


GLOSSARY. 


blink,  n.  gleam,  twinkle;  brief 
moment. 

blitter,  fi.  snipe:  prop,  bittern. 

bluid,  blude,  «.  blood. 

bluntie,  adj.  dull,  stupid.  [M.E. 
bhmt?\ 

blype,  n.  strip,  peeling  (of  skin). 

bock,  V.  vomit,  belch,  pour  out. 
[M.E.  bolke7t?^ 

bodle,  n.  a  copper  coin=;2  pen- 
nies Scots,  said  to  have  been 
named  after  mint-master  Bothwell. 

body,  bodies,  it.  person,  folk; 
often  contemptuous. 

bog-hole,  n.  quagmire,  'wall-ee.' 
[C.  bog,  soft ;  bogach,  a  morass.] 
Dim.  boggle. 

bogle,  n.  goblin, '  doolie.'  [Prob. 
C.  bwg,  bwgwl,  hobgoblin ;  cf .  obs. 
Eng.  bug  as  in  bug-bear,  and  Eng. 
boggle,  to  start  aside  for  fear.] 

bonie,  bonnie,  adj.  good-look- 
ing, beautiful,  winsome.  [Fr. 
bon?[ 

boord,  buird,  n.  board. 

boortree,  bourtree,  n.  elder. 
[Also  boitntree  ;  der.  bo7-etree,  from 
its  soft  pith,  questionable.] 

boost,  V.  must,  ought.  [M.E. 
boes,  bus;  past  bude,  bood ;  orig. 
impers.,  contr.  fr.  (it)  behoves^ 

bore,  n.  hole,  burrow,  crevice. 
\^K.'$>.  borlan  ;  O.N.  3^ra.] 

bouse^  V.  drink  deeply:  n.  drink- 
ing-bout. [M.E.  bousen ;  M.Du. 
busen^ 

bow-kail,  n.  cabbage. 

bow't,  (pron.  boo'd),  ptc. 
crooked,  bent. 

bracken,  n.  fern.  [M.E.  braken  ; 
cf.  Sw.  b7-dkeii ;  Eng.  brake,  fern.] 


brae,  n.  slope,  rising  ground. 
[O.N.  bra,  eyebrow,  brow  of  a 
hill.] 

braid,  adj.  broad.  [A.S.  brad; 
cf.  O.N.  brel&r.] 

braik,  n.  a  heavy  harrow  for 
pulverizing.  [Same  word  as  Eng. 
break.] 

braindge,  v.  plunge  (of  ahorse) : 
also  breendge. 

brak,  v.  broke. 

branks,  n.  a  wooden  bridle  for 
cows.  [C.  brang,  part  of  a  horse's 
halter.] 

brash,  n.  a  sudden  sickness. 
[Used  generally  of  a  sudden  at- 
tack ;  prob.  imit.] 

brat,  n.  any  article  of  clothing, 
asp.  an  apron;  rag,  'dudd.'  [A.S. 
bratt,  fr.  C.  brat,  a  cloth.] 

brattle,  n.  clatter ;  scamper 
'  spurt.'     [Imit.  word.] 

braw,  adj.  fine,  excellent,  hearty, 
fine-looking,  handsome;  finely 
dressed.    [Fr.  brave.] 

brawlie,  adv.  very  well;  heartily. 

braxie,  n.  a  disease  among 
sheep  ;  wh.  the  flesh  of  sheep  that 
die  on  the  hills.  [Cf.  A.S.  brcec- 
seocnes,  falling  sickness,  fr.  brac- 
rhettm.] 

breastit,  v.  put  the  breast  to, 
sprung  up  a  forward. 

bree,  n.  juice,  liquor,  water. 
[Perh.  A.S.  brtw.] 

breef,  brief,  «.  spell.  [O.Fr. 
brief  (bref,  brevet),  talisman.] 

breeks,  n.  breeches,  trousers. 
[A.S.  brec:] 

I.  brent,  adj.  high,  straight:  of 
the  forehead,  used  as  opposed  to 


GLOSSARY. 


255 


bald,  perh.  because  well  covered 
with  hair  and  thus  having  a  steep 
appearance.     [A.S.  brant,  steep.] 

2.  brent,  adv.  in  comp.,  brent- 
iiew,  brandnew. 

brier  (pron.  breer),  n.  wild-rose. 
[A.S. /vv/-.] 

brig,  71.  bridge.  [A.S.  brycg ; 
M.E.  brigge.'] 

brisket,  n.  breast,  stomach. 
[O.F'r.  brischet  or   brnscket.'] 

brither,  n.  brother.    [Cf.  ither.'] 

brock,  ;/.  badger.  [A.S.  broc, 
fr.  C.  brock.'] 

brogue,  n.  trick.     [Etym.  unk.] 

broo  (pron.  bro),«.  juice,  liquor, 
water.  [Perh.  O.Fr.  bro,  breu, 
whence  dim.  broez.     See  brose.] 

broose,  w.  a  race  at  a  country 
wedding.  [Perh.  same  word  as 
brose,  as  a  dish  of  brose  some- 
times formed  the  prize.] 

brose,  n.  on  dry  uncooked 
oatmeal,  with  salt,  boiling  water 
is  poured  sufficient  to  soak  the 
meal ;  it  is  then  allowed  to  stand 
until  the  meal  swells,  whereupon 
it  is  eaten  with  milk.  This  is 
water-brose.  Kail-brose  is  made 
with  broth  instead  of  water.  A 
generation  ago  this  was  the  staple 
food  of  the  Scottish  plowman. 
[Older  forms  are  browis,  browes ; 
M.E.  broys  ;   O.Fr.  brol'z^^ 

brugh  (pron.  bruch),  n.  burgh. 
[Cf.  brtint  and  burnt,  and,  con- 
versely, gir7i,  grin,  etc.] 

brunstane,  n.  brimstone,  sul- 
phur.     [M.E.  brynstan.] 

brunt,  /A-.  l)urnt. 

bught   (pron.  bucht),  n.  sheep- 


fold,  pen :  v.  to  pen  (sheep). 
[Prob.  conn.  w.  big/it ;  A.S.  by/it, 
a  bend.] 

bughtin-time,  «.  time  for  the 
-ewes  to  be  penned  and  milked. 

bulk,  beuk,  buk,  n.  book. 

buird,  fi.  see  boord. 

buirdly,  adj.  large  and  strong- 
looking,  of  robust  appearance. 

bum,  V.  and  n.  buzz,  hum. 
[Imit.  word.] 

bum-clock,  n.  drone-beetle. 
\bti7n,  from  its  droning  flight  ; 
clock,   a   beetle.] 

bunker,  n.  large  box  or  bin 
sometimes  used  as  a  seat.  [Cf. 
Eng.  bunk."] 

burdie,  dim.  of  burd,  n.  bride, 
damsel.  [Perh.  A.S.  bryd,  Dan. 
brud,  w.  transp.  r.] 

bure,  past  of  bear  :  bore. 

burn,  ;/.  brook.  [A.S.  btirna, 
biirnc] 

burr-thistle,  «.  Scotch  thistle. 
[M.E.  biirre ;  Dan.  Sw.  borre.] 

busk,  V.  dress,  adorn.  [M.E. 
buskcn ;  O.N.  btiask,  to  get  one- 
self ready.] 

buss,  71.  bush,  covert.  [Cf. 
wiss  for  wish.] 

bussle,  71.  bustle,  'bizz.' 

but,  prep,  without:  ;/.  the 
kitchen  end  of  the  house :  adv.  in 
the  kitchen.  The  cotter's  house 
consists  of  '  a  but  and  a  ben.' 
[A.S.  bf-iitan,  bitta7t.] 

butchin,  ;/.  butcher's  trade. 
[/'/■(-.  of  butc/i,  to  butcher.] 

by,  p7-ep.  past,  beyond  ;  by  hit7i- 
sel,  crazy  ;  by  this,  by  this  time : 
adv.  I  care  7ia  by,  I  care  not  for 


256 


GLOSSARY. 


that.  (See  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the 
day,  4,  note.) 

byke,  n.  nest  of  wild  bees  or 
wasps.     [Etym.  unk.] 

byre,  n.  cowhouse.    [A.S.  byre.'\ 

1.  Ca',  V.  call,  name.  [O.N. 
kallaP\ 

2.  ca',  V.  drive  (e.g.,  a  cart,  nail, 
flock  of  sheep).  [Same  word  as 
ca'  I.] 

cadger,  n.  itinerant  fishmonger. 
[From  cadge,  to  carry  about,  hawk  ; 
of  doubtful  etym.] 

caird,  n.  tinker.      [C.  ceard?^ 

calm,  n.  pile  of  stones.  [C. 
carn?[ 

caller,  cauler,  adj.  fresh;  wh. 
cool.  [Older  form  caloiire,  cal- 
loiir,  applied  to  flesh  recently 
killed  ;  perh.  fr.  calver,  an  epithet 
used  of  newly  caught  fish.  Cf. 
silver,  siller^ 

canker,  n.  irritation:  v.  be  ir- 
ritated ;  wh.  cankrie,  irritating, 
peevish. 

canna,  v.  cannot. 

cannie,  adj.  sagacious,  cunning  ; 
careful,  quiet,  harmless,  [can,  to 
know  how.] 

cantie,  adj.  happy,  cheerful. 
[Prob.  cant,  brisk  and  bold;  a 
Low  German  word.] 

cantrip,  n.  a  mischievous 
trick  usually  connected  with 
charms  or  magic.     [Etym.  dub.] 

capestane,  n.  copestone. 

carl,  carle,  n.  man,  boor,  old 
man.  [M.E.  carl;  O.N.  karl ; 
cf.  A.S.  ceorl.'] 

carl-hemp,     n.     the    strongest 


stalk  of  hemp,  form,  supposed  to 
be  the  male-plant,  but  really  the 
female. 

carlin,  n.  fem.  of  carl :  old 
woman. 

carmagnole,  fiend,  wild  revolu- 
tionist. [Fr.  carmagnole,  a  wild 
dance  popular  among  the  French 
revolutionaries.] 

cartes,  «.  playing  cards.  [The 
t  is  Fr.] 

cattle,  n.  all  beasts  constituting 
property. 

cauld,  adj.  cold.  [M.E.  cald ; 
A.S.  ceald;  O.N.  kald-r.] 

caup,  n.  wooden  bowl.  [Also 
cap  (the  au  being  local ;  cf.  chaup, 
chap;  cauler,  caller');  A.S.  copp ; 
O.N.  kopp-r.'] 

causey,  n.  causeway.  [O.Fr. 
caucie,  cauciee,  a  beaten  track,  via 
calciata.'\ 

certes,  adv.  forsooth,  '  fegs.' 
[Fr.] 

changehouse,  «.  tavern;  wayside 
inn  where  horses  were  changed. 

chanter,  «.  the  pipe  of  a  bag- 
pipe, recorder.  [Older  form  chan- 
tour ;  O.Fr.  chanteor.'] 

1.  chap,  n.  fellow.  [Short  for 
chaptnan ;  cf.  callant,  fr.  Du. 
kalant,  a  customer.] 

2.  chap,  chaup,  n.  stroke  (of  a 
hammer),  knock.  [M.E.  chappen  ; 
conn.  w.  chop,  chip.'\ 

chiel,  chield,  n.  young  man, 
fellow.     [A.S.  cild.} 

chimla,  «.  fireplace,  mantel- 
piece ;  not  '  chimney '  in  the  sense 
of  '  flue,'  wh.  in  Scotch  is  '  lum.' 
[O.Fr.  cheminee.'\ 


GLOSSARY. 


257 


chittering,  ptc.  shivering,  flut- 
tering, usu.  w.  cold.  [M.E.  chi- 
teren  ;  cf.  chatter.] 

chow,  chaw,  v.  chew.  [A.S. 
ceowan.~\ 

cit,  It. '  citizen,'  contemptuously. 

clachan,  n.  village.     [C] 

claes,  n.  clothes.  [Cf.  moi(\ 
mouth,  wr,  with.] 

claith,  n.  cloth.  [A.S.  cla&; 
O.N.  klcr&L'] 

claivers,  clavers,  n.  gossip, 
idle  talk.  [Prob.  C.  dabaire,  a 
gabbler ;  but  cf.  obs.  Du.  kala- 
beren,  and  Ger.  klaffern,  to 
chatter.] 

clamb,  V.  past  of  climb. 

1.  clap,  V.  put  quickly.  [O.N. 
klappa,  to  pat ;   M.E.  clappen.'\ 

2.  clap,  n.  clapper  (of  a  mill). 
[Same.] 

clarkit,  ptc.  clerked,  figured 
accounts. 

clash,  clashes,  «.  idle  gossip, 
scandal.     [Imit.  word.] 

claught,  ptc.  clutched.  [Past 
of  deck  wh.  corr.  to  M.E.  clechen, 
pp.  ciaht.'] 

claut,  V.  scrape :  n.  something 
scraped  together,  hoard.  [Prob. 
same  root  as  claw.'] 

claw,  V.  scratch.    [A.S.c/rtw^//.] 

clean,  adv.  altogether. 

deed,  v.  clothe.  [O.N.  kitc&a, 
Dan.  khrde,  Du.  kleeden ;  and  cf. 
Eng.  clad  for  clothed.] 

cleek,  «.  hook  :  v.  link  to- 
gether. [North,  form  of  M.E. 
clechejt,  to  catch.] 

I.  clink,  n.  money,  wealth, 
'  chink.' 


2.  clink,  V.  accord,  come  in 
aptly. 

clips,  n.  shears. 

clish-ma-claver,  n.  idle  gossip, 
'  clashes.'  \clish  is  a  doublet  of 
clash  ;  see  claiver.] 

clock,  n.  a  beetle.    [Etym.  unk.] 

cloot  (pron.  cluit),  n.  one  of  the 
divisions  of  a  cloven  hoof.  [Perh. 
O.N.  kid,  claw.] 

Clootie,  Cloots,«.  Satan.  \cloot^ 

clud,  !i.  cloud.  [A.S.  cltld,  a 
hill,  'cumulus.'] 

coble,  n.  small,  broad-beamed 
rowboat,  usu.  for  salmon-fishing. 
[?C.] 

CO  ft,  V.  bought.  [Past  tense  and 
^.^.  ixQxa.  cope ;  cf.  M.Du.  copen. 
The  pres.  coff  was  formed  from 
coft.-\ 

cog,  n.  wooden  bowl,  bigger 
than  a  caup.  [Prob.  C.  cawg,  a 
basin.]     Dim.  coggie. 

convoy,  v.  accompany  on  the 
way.     [O.Fr.  convoie^ 

COOd  (pron.  cuid),  n.  cud. 

coof,  cuif,  11.  fool,  blockhead. 
[Perh.  cf.  Eng.  cove  (slang).] 

cookit,  V.  past  of  cook,  to  appear 
and  disappear  by  turns.  [Etym. 
dub.] 

coost,  cuist,  past  of  cast. 

cootie  (pron.  cuitie),  «.  tub. 

corbie,  «.  raven,  crow.  [O.Fr. 
corb,  coibiii.] 

core,  n.  company,  gang.      [Fr. 

COIpS.] 

corn,  «.  grain,  oats, 
corn't,  ftc.  fed  with  oats, 
cosie,  cozie,   adj.   snug,  warm. 
[Etym.  unk.] 


258 


GLOSSARY. 


cot-folk,  n.  cotters. 

cotter,  n.  one  who  inhabits  a 
cottage  dependent  on  a  farm. 

couthy,  adj.  kindly,  loving. 
[A.  S.   cii&,    known  ;    cf.    M.  E. 

cove,  n.  cave  ;  recess,  nook. 
[A.S.  cofai\ 

COwe,  V.  intimidate,  surpass. 
[Perh.  O.N.  kuga  ;  Dan.  kue.  Dist. 
fr.  cowe,  to  cut  short  (M.E.  colle).'] 

cowpit,  past  of  cowj),  upset. 
[Prob.  same  word  as  cope,  fr.  Fr. 
caliper,  orig.  to  strike.] 

cowte,  n.  colt. 

COzie,  adj.  see  cosie. 

crack,  v.  talk  :  n.  conversation. 
[Orig.  to  talk  loud  or  boastfully ; 
same  as  Eng.  crack.'] 

craft,  n.  croft,  field.  [A.S. 
croft.'] 

craik,  n.  corn-craik,  land-rail. 
[Imit.  word.] 

crambo-clink,  crambo-jingle,  n. 
versification.  \crai?!bo,  a  game  of 
verses,  and  clink,  jingle.] 

cranreuch,  n.  hoarfrost.  [C. 
crann,  a  tree  ;  reodhadh,  freezing 
(from  the  forms  of  vegetation  it 
takes).] 

1.  crap,  n.  and  v.  crop. 

2.  crap,  V.  past  of  creep. 

1.  craw,  n.  crow  (of  chanti- 
cleer). 

2.  craw,  n.  rook. 

creel,  n.  large,  round,  open 
wicker  basket ;  senses  in  a  creel  =■ 
'  having  lost  one's  head.'       [  ?  C] 

creeshie,  creishie,  adj.  greasy. 
\creish,  grease ;  O.Fr.  craisse, 
cresse ;  cf.  C.  creis  (pron.  kresh)^ 


crony,  n.  intimate  companion. 
[No  conn.  w.  crone  has  been 
traced.] 

1.  crood,  n.  crowd. 

2.  crood,  V.  coo  (as  a  dove). 
[Imit.  word.] 

1.  croon,  n.  crown,  top  of  the 
head,  '  pow.' 

2.  croon,  V.  make  a  low  mourn- 
ful sound :  n.  hum.  [M.Du. 
crdnen,  to  lament.] 

crouchie,  adj.  hump-backed. 
\]sl.lL.  cruchen,  to  cov/er  \  cf.  O.Fr. 
crochir,  cower.] 

crouse,  adj.  brisk  and  bold, 
spirited.        [M.E.   cms;     M.L.G. 

k7-ltS?[ 

crowdie,  n.  porridge,  brose. 
[Cf.  O.N.  graut-r.] 

crummock,  «.  staff  with  a 
crooked  head.  [A.S.  crumb, 
crooked ;  -ock,  dim.  termin. ;  C. 
cromag.] 

crump,  adj.  crisp,  short  (of 
cakes).      [Cf.  crimp,  crumple.] 

cuddle,  V.  caress.  [Prob.  a  cor- 
ruption of  'couth-le,'  a  frequenta- 
tive from  M.E.  couth,  and  so  same 
root  as  conthie.] 

cuif,  see  coof. 

cummock,  n.  stick  with  a 
crooked  head.  [Also  catnmock, 
canibock ;  M.E.  kambok ;  L.Lat. 
cambuca,  of  C.  origin.] 

curchie,  //.  curtsy. 

curmurrin,  n.  rumbling  sound, 
grumbling.  [Imit.  word;  cf.  Du. 
koeren-tnorre7t?[ 

curpin,  curple,  n.  crupper,  back. 
[Var.  form  of  croupoti ;  O.Fr. 
i   croupon,  rump.] 


GLOSSARY. 


259 


cushat,  n.  wood-pigeon.  [A.S. 
cuscoieP\ 

custoc,  castock,  n.  pith  of  the 
stem  of  a  cabbage.  \caly  kail, 
and  stock.'\ 

cutty,  adj.  short.  [C.  cutack, 
short,  docked.] 

Daddie,  «.  father.     [C] 

daffin,  n.  making  fun,  romping. 
[M.E.  daffe,  to  be  foolish.] 

daft,  adj.  foolish,  crazy.  [P.  p. 
of  M.E.  daffe.l 

dail,  deal,  «.  deal  board. 

daitnen,  adj.  occasional,  'an- 
trin.'     [Etym.  dub.] 

dainty  (pron.  denty),  adj.  good, 
lovable.  [O.Fr.  daintie,  agreeable- 
ness,  fr.  Lat.  dignitatem.'\ 

damies,  fi.  dames.     [Dim.] 

darg,  daurg, ;/.  lit.  a  day's  work  ; 
wh.  a  spell  of  work  in  general. 
[daiirk,  syncop.  form  of  day-werk, 
day-work.] 

darklins,  adv.  secretly.  [See 
-lins.'\ 

daud,  n.  large  piece.  [Also  dad ; 
a  piece  broken  off  by  a  dad  or 
blow ;  fr.  V.  dad,  strike  firmly. 
Imit.  word.] 

daur,  V.  dare. 

daurk,  see  darg. 

daut,  dawt,  v.  pet,  caress. 
[Etym.  unk.] 

daw,  V.  dawn.  [M.E.  dawen  ; 
A.S.  dagian.'] 

dead,  «.  death.  [M.E.  (North.) 
ded ;  A.S.  dea&  ;  ci.  O-N.  dauS'-r 
(Dan.  Sw.  dod).] 

dearthfu,  adj.  costly,  dear. 

deave,  v.   stupefy   with   noise ; 


annoy  by  repetition,  pester.  [A.S. 
deajian  in  ddeajian  (f  ^=  v),  to  wax 
deaf.] 

dee,  V.  die.  [M.E.  deyen  ;  O.N. 
deyja.'\ 

deevil,  deil,  n.  devil. 

deil-ma-care,  ititerj. '  no  matter.' 

deleerit,  adj.  delirious,  raving. 

1.  den,  n.  dell.  [M.E.  dere ; 
A.S.  dentc,  valley.] 

2.  den,  n.  cavern.  [M.E.  den  ; 
A.S.  de)!n.'\ 

descrive,  v.  describe.  [M.E. 
descriven  ;  O.Fr.  descrivre.'\ 

deuk,  n.  duck.  [Same  as  Eng. 
duck  ;  see  /o7(k.^ 

dicht,  dight,  v.  wipe.  [A.S. 
dilitatt,  to  prepare.] 

dike,  see  dyke. 

din,  n.  noise  ;  discord. 

dine,  «.  dinnertime,  noon. 

ding,  V.  knock ;  beat,  baffle. 
[M.E.  diiigen  ;  cf.  O.N.  dengja,  to 
hammer.] 

dinsome,  adj.  noisy. 

dirl,  n.  a  stroke  that  produces 
vibration  but  does  not  penetrate  : 
V.  throb,  tingle.  [Cf.  thirl,  thrill, 
etc.] 

dizzen,  n.  dozen. 

doited,  adj.  stupid,  \doit  may 
be  dote,  M.E.  dot  en ;  O.N.  dotta, 
to  nod  sleepily.] 

doitin,  doytin,  ptc.  walking  in 
a  stupid  manner,  \doit,  doiter ; 
see  above.] 

donsie,  adj.  wicked,  morally  bad 
{U.  C);  vicious,  ill  tempered  {A.  M. 
Af.)  ;  wh.  ill  to  please,  over-nice. 

dool,  dule,  n.  sorrow.  [O.Fr. 
doel  =  dt'uil.J 


260 


GLOSSARY. 


douce,  adj.  solemn,  grave.  [O. 
Fr.  doitse,  doucei\ 

dour,  doure,  adj.  stubborn,  un- 
yielding, stern.  [Cf .  Fr.  dur  ;  L. 
durus^ 

dow,  V.  can ;  past  dought.  [M. 
E.  dowen  ;  A.S.  dngan.'\ 

dowff,  adj.  dull,  spiritless  ;  point- 
less.     [O.N.  dauf-r,  deaf.] 

dowie,  adj.  dull,  low-spirited. 
[Earlier  form,  dollie,  prob.  same 
as  A.S.  dol^^ 

downa,  v.  cannot.     \dow^ 

downans,  n.  green  hillocks.  [C. 
diin.^ 

doylt,  adj.  stupid.  [Perh.  orig. 
p.  p.  of  didlen,  to  dull  ;  cf.  M.E. 
dult^^ 

drag,  «.  and  v.  break  (of  a 
vehicle)  :  dragged,  ptc.  having  the 
break  applied. 

drappie,  «.  dim.  of  dt-ap,  drop. 

drave,  v.  past  of  drive. 

dree,  v.  endure,  suffer.  [M.E. 
dretett,  dregken  ;  A.S.  dreogan.'] 

dreep,  v.  drip. 

dreigh,  adj.  tedious.  [M..'E.dregh; 
see  dree,  and  cf.    O.N.  drjug-r.'] 

droop-rumpl't,  adj.  drooping  at 
the  crupper.  [O.N.  driipa ;  and 
rii77iple  =  rump.] 

droukit,  ptc.  drenched.  [O.N. 
drukna,  to  be  drowned.] 

drouthy,  adj.  thirsty,  [drouth  ; 
M.E.  droiig&(e)  ;  A.S.  drz7ga&,  fr. 
drtigian,  to  dry.] 

drucken,  adj.  drunken.  [Norw. 
and    Dan.  drtikken ;     O.N.    druk- 

drumly,  adj.  muddy.  [Also 
drumd/y.] 


drummock,  «.  raw  oatmeal 
stirred  in  cold  water ;  thin  '  crow- 
die.'     [Prob.  C] 

drunt,  n.  pique,  huff. 

duan,  n.  division  of  a  poem, 
canto.     [C] 

dub,  n.  pool,  puddle.  [C.  dod, 
gutter.] 

duddie,  adj.  ragged,     [duds.] 

duds,  duddies,  n.  rags,  clothes. 
[M.E.  ditdde,  a  cloak.] 

dung,  v.  past  of  ding. 

dusht,  pU.  astounded  (as  with 
a  heavy  blow).  [M.E.  diischen,  to 
strike,  doublet  of  dash^ 

dyke,  dike,  n.  stone  or  turf 
fence  ;  orig.  a  mound  thrown  up 
by  digging  a  trench.  [A.S.  die,  a 
ditch.] 

Earn,  em,  n.  eagle.  [A.S.  earn  ; 
M.E.  ernP[ 

Earse,  Erse,  n.  Highland,  Gaelic. 
[=  Irish.] 

ee,  «.  eye.  PI.  een.  [h..'S).eage, 
eagan  ;  M.E.  eye,  eyen.] 

e'en,  n.  evening. 

eerie,  adj.  frightened,  weird ; 
prop,  it  suggests  ghostliness  and 
the  apprehension  of  something 
unknown.  [M.E.  eri,  prob.  fr.  A.S. 
eark,  timid.] 

eild,  n.  old  age  ;  Eng.  eld.  [A.S. 
el  do,  yldu.'] 

elbock,  ;/.  elbow.  [Cf.  A.S.  el- 
boga.] 

eldritch,  adj.  unearthly.  [A 
form  elphrish  favors  a  connection 
with  elf.] 

eneuch,  n.  enough.  [M.E.  inoh; 
A.S.  gcnoh^ 


GLOSSARY. 


261 


ettle,  V.  and  n.  aim,  endeavor. 
[O.N.  cEtla,  to  intend.] 

eydent,  adj.  diligent.  [Also 
written  ithand ;  O.N.  i&inti,  assid- 
uous ;  i&,  restless  motion.] 

Fa,  V.  get,  secure ;  '  he  maunna 
fa  that.'  Cf.  old  song,  '  For  fient 
a  cnim  o'  thee  she  fans.'  [A.S. 
fon  ;  O.N. /a;  Ban. /a a e.] 

fa',  n.  lot,  destiny:  7>.  to  befall. 

faddom,  n.  and  v.  fathom  ;  the 
outstretched  arms.  [A.S./o'&m  ; 
M.E./adme.] 

fae,  «;  foe. 

faem,  n.  foam. 

fain,  ad/',  desirous,  fond.    [A.S. 

fair  fa',  =  'fair  befall,'  '  good 
luck  to.' 

fairin,  n.  present  given  at  a  fair; 
reward. 

fallow,  n.  fellow. 

fei'n,  ptc.  fallen. 

fancy,  n.  love,  amour  (as  in 
Shakspere). 

fand,  V.  past  of  find. 

farl,  «.  coarse  meal  cake.  [Also 
fardel,  lit.  a  fourth  part  of  any- 
thing ;  wh.  a  cake  cut  in  four ; 
A.S.  feor&a  d^l.'\ 

fash,  V.  and  ;/.  trouble.  [O.Fr. 
faschcr.^^ 

Fasten-een, «.  Shrove  Tuesday. 
[Fast.] 

faught,  n.  fight. 

fauld,  n.  fold  :  v.  to  bring  the 
sheep  home. 

fause,  adj.  false.  [Cf.  Fr. 
fausse.'\ 

faut,  n.  fault.     [Cf.  Fr.  fazite?^ 


fawsont,  adj.  seemly,  respect- 
able. [M.E.yajo««,  fashion;  Fr. 
fa^on  ;  t  is  p.  p.  ending.] 

fear't  (pron.  fear'd),  adj.  afraid. 
[Cf.  Eng.  afca7-d.'] 

feat,  adj.  trim,  smart.  [M.E. 
feit,  fait ;   Fr.  fait.'\ 

fecht,  n.  and  v.  fight. 

feck,  n.  greater  part,  substance. 
[Corrup.  of  effect.'] 

feckless,  adj.  insubstantial,  pith- 
less.     \_feck.~\ 

feg,  «.  fig.  [Dist.  fr.  interj. 
fegs  !  ] 

fell,  adj.  comfortable,  cosy. 
[Perh.  A.S.  fale ;  M.E.  fele, 
proper,  good.] 

fair,  fier,  adj.  strong,  lusty. 
[M.E.  yirc?;  O.N.  fcerr,  capable.] 

feirie,  adj.  vigorous,  active. 
[feir.] 

1.  fell,  adj.  strong  (of  taste). 
[M.E.fet.] 

2.  fell,  n.  hill.  [O.N.  fe//, 
fja/l] 

fen',  n.  shift,  provision :  v.  to 
make  provision.  ['M.E.  feudeu  ; 
Fr.  defendre.] 

ferly,  «.  and  v.  wonder.  [M.E. 
ferli ;  A.'S.ficrlic,  sudden.] 

fetch,  V.  pull  intermittently. 

fidge,  e'.  move  uneasily,  fidget. 
[jieefyl-e.'] 

fidgin-fain,  adj.  fidgeting  with 
eagerness. 

fient, «.  fiend.  Used  in  emphatic 
negatives;  'fient  a '  = 'devil  a'; 
'  fient  haet '  ^ '  devil  a  whit.' 

fier,  see  feir. 

fiere,  ;/.  comrade.  [M.E.  fere  ; 
A.S.  gefera."] 


262 


GLOSSARY. 


filabeg,  n.  kilt.  [C.  filleadh 
beag-l 

fine,  adv.  nicely,  '  brawly.' 

fissle,  V.  hustle,  get  excited. 
[Freq.  oifuss^ 

fit,  n.  foot. 

fittie-lan',  n.  '  foot-the-land  ' ; 
the  horse  of  the  hinder  pair  in 
plowing  which  does  not  step  in 
the  furrow. 

fizz,  V.  effervesce. 

flang,  V.  past  oi  fling. 

flannen,  n.  flannel. 

fleech,  V.  cajole,  flatter.  [Perh. 
M.Du.y?t'/jf«,  to  fawn.] 

fleesh,  n.  fleece.  [Cf.  creesh, 
grease?^ 

flag,  flay,  v.  and  «.  scare.  [M.E. 
fleyeft ;  A.S.  *flegan,  dflyga}t.'\ 

flichter,  v.  flutter.  [Same  root 
2i?,  flight.'] 

flie  (pron.  flea),  n.  and  v.  fly. 

flinders,  n.  splinters.  [Cf. 
l>!orw.  flindra,  dial,  flifiier.] 

fling,  V.  kick  out ;  dance  a 
'  fling.'  [Cf.  O.^.flengja,  to  flog  ; 
T)z.x\.  flange,  to  move  impetuously, 
to  romp.] 

flingin-tree,  n.  flail. 

flisk,  V.  caper,  '  balk '  (of  a 
horse).      [Imit.  word;  cf.  whisk^ 

flit,  V.  remove  one's  household. 
S^.Y..  flitten  ;  cf.  O.N.y?j/^a-] 

foggage,  n.  rank  grass.  [Sc. 
Law  'L'At./ogagium,  prob.  fr.  M.E. 
fogge,  grass,  esp.  aftermath.] 

for,  prep,  in  spite  of. 

forbears,  n.  ancestors,  progeni- 
tors.    \Vroh.  fore  ;  bear,  produce.] 

forby,  adv.  in  addition,  besides. 
{U.^.forbi.'] 


forfairn,  ptc.  jaded,  worn  out. 
\_A.?>.  for/aran,  to  destroy,  perish.] 

forfoughten  (pron.  forfoch'n), 
ptc.  over-exerted,  '  trachl't.'  \_/or-, 
intensive  ;  A.S.  fohten,  p.  p.  of 
feohtan,  to  fight.] 

forgather,  v.  meet,  associate 
with. 

1.  fou  (pron.  foo),  adj.  full, 
drunk. 

2.  fou,  fow,  n.  measure  of  grain, 
'  fill '  of  the  measure. 

foughten  (pron.  foch'n),  ptc. 
harassed  ;  cf .  forfoughten. 

fouth,  «.  plenty.  \}1\..Y..  fulthe  ; 
ful,  'fou:] 

fracas,  n.  ado,  fuss.     [Fr.] 

frae, /r^/.  from.     [O.N./r^.] 

freath,  n.  froth,  '  ream.'  [M.E. 
fro&e ;  O.N.  fro&a ;  the  ea  is 
local.] 

fu',  adv.  quite,  very.  Same 
word  2^%  fou  I,  but  the  pronunc.  is 
much  lighter. 

fur,  furr,  n.  furrow.  [A.S. 
fur  hi] 

furm,  n.  form,  bench.  [L. 
formal] 

fushionless,  adj.  foisonless, 
weak,  '  thowless.'  [O.Fr.  foison, 
abundance.] 

fyke,  fike,  n.  agitation,  fuss, 
anxiety  about  petty  things.  [M.E. 
fiken ;  O.N.  fikja,  to  move 
nimbly.] 

fyle,  V.  soil,  dirty.  [M.E._/y/(?«; 
A.S.  (a)  fylan,  ix.fUl,  dirty.] 

1.  Gab,  «.  mouth.    [See^a(^2.] 

2.  gab,  V.  chatter,  prate.  [M.E. 
gabben,  to  talk  idly  ;  O.Fr.  gaber.] 


GLOSSARY. 


263 


gae,  gang,  z'.  go.  P.gaed,p.p. 
gatie. 

gaet,  gate,  n.  road,  way  ;  man- 
ner. \M.JL.  gate,  v/diy  ;  0.1>i.gi2ta  ; 
cf.  A.S.  geat,  an  opening.] 

gane,  gang,  see^^^. 

gar,  V.  compel.  \^I.Yj.  garren  ; 
O.N.  gora,  vulg.  gera,  to  cause ; 
cf.  A.S.  gea9-wian,  to  prepare.] 

gart, /./.  oi  gar. 

garten,  «.  garter.     [C.gartan.] 

gash,  adj.  sagacious,  shrewd  ; 
talkative  :  v.  talk  much. 

gat,  V.  past  oi  get. 

gate,  n.  see  ,^«^/. 

gaucie,  gawsie,  ad/,  big  and 
•lusty,  plump  ;  jolly. 

gauger,  «.  exciseman,  one  who 
'gauges'  (ale-barrels,  etc.). 

gaun,  />tc.  and  n.  going.  (The 
«  repres.  /tc.  -hi.) 

gear,  >i.  goods,  wealth.  [M.E. 
gere  ;  A.S.  ^^arw^,  furnishings.] 

geek  (g  hard),  v.  toss  the  head ; 
mock.     [Dan.  gekken^ 

Ged,  in  'Johnny  Ged's  hole,' 
the  grave.  [Perh.  fr.  ged,  a  greedy 
person  ;  metaph.  fr.  ged,  a  pike.] 

gentles,  n.  gentle-folks,  gentry. 

get,  gett,  n.  breed,  offspring. 
[Cf.  beget?^ 

ghaist,  n.  ghost.     [A.S.  gnst?^ 

gie  {g  hard),  v.  give. 

gif  (^  hard),    conj.   if.       [A.S. 

gin 

gillie  {g  soft),  n.  dim.  of  gill, 
fourth  part  of  a  mutchkin  or  pint. 

gilpey  {g  hard),  n.  frolicsome 
girl.     [Used  also  of  boys.] 

gimmer  {g  hard),  n.  young  ewe. 
[O.N.  gy»ib-r.'\ 


gin  {g  hard),  prep,  by  the  time 
of :  conj.  by  the  time  that  ;  if. 
[Also,^^«;  A.S.  gean-,  against.] 

girn,  V.  gnash  the  teeth  with 
chagrin,  rage  or  ill  temper.  [Same 
as  griii^ 

gizz,  n.  face.     [Perh.  Yx.giiisc?^ 

glaikit,  adj.  light,  giddy, 
thoughtless.  \^glaik,  obs.  Eng. 
gleck.'\ 

glaizie,  a4j.  shining,  glossy. 
iglazc^^ 

gleib,  n.  small  farm  (usu.  at- 
tached to  the  church),  glebe.  [Fr. 
glehcP[ 

glen,  n.  small  valley.  [C. 
^/dV7 ;/;/.] 

glint.  It.  and  v.  glance.  [M.E. 
glenteii.'] 

gloamin,  n.  gloaming,  twilight. 
\_A.'S.  gldniiing.'] 

glower,  V.  stare,  glare.  [M.E. 
gloren.'] 

glunch,  n.  frown,  surly  look. 
[Also  glumch,  fr.  glum.'\ 

goavan,  ptc.  staring  in  a  dazed 
way.     [Also  gove,  got/.'] 

gos,  >!■  goshawk,  falcon. 

gowan,  n.  daisy;  -y,adj.  daisied. 
[C.gngati.'] 

gowd,  n.  gold  ;  -en,  adj.  golden. 

gowdspink,  >i.  goldfinch. 
\_spi)ik  is  same  word  zsjinch,  A.S. 
Jinc  ;  cf.  Gr.  (r7r/77os.] 

gowk,  ;/.  fool,  [M.E.  gowke  ; 
cf.  O.N.  gaiik-r,  cuckoo  (which  in 
Scotl.  is  still  ^(jw/^') ;  cf.  also  Eng. 
ga^wk^^ 

grain,  grane,  n.  groan. 

I.  graip,  n.  short  pitchfork. 
[Cf.  Dzxi.  greb  ;  Sw.  grepe.'\ 


264 


GLOSSARY. 


2.  graip,  V.  grope.  [A.S.  grd- 
pian  ;  conn.  w.  above.] 

graith,  n.  implements  ;  harness, 
attire.  \)A.Y^.  greithe  ;  O.N.  gret- 
&i,  preparation.] 

grane,  see  grain. 

granny,  n.  grandmother,  [gran- 
nam,  grandam,  Fr.] 

grat,  past  oi  greet. 

gree,  n.  prize,  superiority.  [O. 
Fr.  gre?[ 

greet,  v.  weep.  [A.S.  grStan, 
to  bewail ;  cf.  O.N.  grdta^^ 

grissle,  n.  gristle,  stump. 

groat,  11.  an  old  silver  coin  = 
8  cents.  [M.E.  grote ;  O.L.G. 
grote.'\ 

grousome,  adj.  horrible,  \grew, 
to  shiver  ;  cf.  Dan.  g>'7ie.'] 

grumph,  n.  grunt;  wh.  grum- 
phie,  ft.  pig.     [Imit.  word.] 

gruntle,  n.  snout,  visage  ;  grunt. 

grushie,  adj.  thick,  of  thriving 
growth. 

gude,  guid,  adj.  good  :  w.  good- 
ness ;  God. 

gudefather,  n.  goodfather, 
father-in-law. 

gudeman,  n.  master  of  the 
household,  husband. 

gude-willie,  adj.  good-willed, 
friendly. 

gully,  n.  large  pocketknife, 
bowieknife. 

gulravage,  n.  disorder,  tumult. 

gumlie,  adj.  muddy.  S^gmnmle, 
to  stir  up  ;  same  zs>Ju77ible  ;  Dan. 
gu7>ipe,  to  jolt.] 

gusty,  adj.  tasty,  toothsome. 
[Obs.  Eng.  gust;  Lat.  gustus, 
taste.] 


gutcher,  «.  grandfather.  [Older 
forms  gttd-sckir,  gud-syr.'\ 

gutters,  n.  mud,  mud  puddles. 
[M.E.  gotere,  channel  for  water; 
O.Fr.  goHtierei\ 

Ha',  «.  hall. 

ha'-bible, ;/.  family  Bible  kept  in 
the  hall  or  principal  apartment. 

had,  V.  see  hand. 

hae,  V.  have.  Esp.  used  in  prof- 
fering a  thing,  '  here.' 

haet,  n.  whit. 

haffets,  «.  sides  of  the  head. 
[Older  form  lievid  (Wyntoun)  ; 
A.S.  heafod,  the  head.] 

hafQin,  adj.  half-grown.  \Jialf 
and  -li}i,  -li)ig.'\ 

hafflins,  adv.  partly.  [See 
-tins.'] 

ha-folk,  n.  hall-people ;  i.e.,  of 
the  servants'  hall. 

haggis,  71.  kind  of  pudding. 
[M.E.  haggas,  hakkys,  fr.  hag,  hack, 
infl.  by  O.Fr.  hachis,  hash.] 

hain,  v.  spare,  economize,  save ; 
lit.  to  hedge  in.  [O.N.  heg/ia,  to 
hedge.] 

hairst,  «.  harvest. 

haith,  i/!tc7j.  '  faith.' 

haivers  (havers),  «.  nonsense, 
<  blethers.' 

hal',  7t.  hold  ;  house  ««'  haV  = 
'  house  and  holding.' 

hale,  n.  and  adj.  whole  ;  sound, 
robust.     [A.S.  hal.'\ 

halesome,  adj.  wholesome. 

half-lang,  adj.  corruption  of 
haffli7t. 

hallan,  «.  partition  wall  of  a 
cottage ;  sometimes  (see  C,  S.  N. 


GLOSSARY. 


265 


85)  it  separated  the  dwelling  apart- 
ments from  the  cow  house. 

hallowe'en,  n.  All  Saints'  Eve. 
[M.E.  halwe  ;  A.S.  hdlga.'\ 

hame,  n.  home :  hamely,  adj. 
homely. 

han',  haun',  n.  hand;  capable 
person. 

han'-daurg,  n.  single-handed 
day's  labor.     [See  daurg.'\ 

hand-waled,  adj.  chosen  by 
hand  ;  especial.     [See  wale^ 

hansel,  handsel,  n.  first  money, 
or  gift,  bestowed  on  a  particular 
occasion;  an  earnest;  first  use: 
3.1so  adj.  and  v.  [O.N.  /laiidsal ; 
of.  A.S.  hand-selen,  a  giving  into 
the  hand.] 

1.  hap  (short  «),  n.  and  v. 
cover,  wrap. 

2.  hap  (long  <?),  V.  hop. 
happer,  n.  hopper  of  a  mill. 
happin,  ftc.  of  hap  2. 

harkit,  past  of  hark,  'listened 
to.' 

ham,  n.  coarse  kind  of  linen. 
[Also  hardin,  from  the  material, 
hards.  A.S.  hcordan,  hards  of 
fla.x.] 

hash,  ;/.  fool,  soft,  useless  fel- 
low. [Also  a  wasteful,  stupidly 
reckless  person;  prob.  fr.  hash,  to 
cut  up  wastefuUy.] 

hand,  had,  v.  and  n.  hold.  [Cf. 
scaud,  scald.] 

hauf,  n.  half. 

haugh  (pron.  gutt.),  «.  meadow 
by  a  river  side.  [Prob.  conn.  w. 
A.S.  haga,  a  place  fenced  in;  cf. 
O.N.  hagi,  a  pasture.] 

haun,  «.     see  han\ 


haurl,  V.  drag  roughly;  scrape, 
peel. 

havins,  n.  propriety ;  sense  of 
propriety.  [Perh.  O.N.  hafa,  to 
behoove,  be  meet  ;  hcEJinn,  aiming 
well ;  but  cf.  Eng.  havior,  be- 
have?^ 

havrel,  n.  for  haver-el,  foolish 
person.     [See  haiversl\ 

hawkie,  «.  cow;  strictly  a  cow 
with  a  white  face.  [Cf.  hawkit, 
white-faced,  spotted  or  streaked 
with  white.] 

heal,  see  hale. 

hearse,  adj.  hoarse.  [M.E.  hors  ; 
A.S.  has ;  cf.  O.Du.  haersch^ 

heave,  v.  throw,  pitch. 

hecht,  V.  promise.  [Orig.  to 
name;  A.S.  hdtan,  heht ;  Eng. 
hight  (be  called).] 

heckle,  «.  comb  for  dressing 
flax  or  hemp.  [M.E.  hekele ;  Du. 
hekel.'\ 

heeze,  v.  raise.  [M.E.  hoise ; 
O.Du.  hyssen.'\ 

heft,  n.  haft,  handle. 

heigh  (gutt.),  adj.  high. 

herryment,  «.  devastation ; 
plunderers.  \herry,  to  harry, 
plunder;  A.S.  hergian.'] 

het,  adj.  heated,  warm. 

heugh,  n.  lit.  a  crag,  a  ragged, 
steep  hillside  ;  wh.  a  ravine,  gully. 
[O.'N.haug-r ;  cf.  M.E.  hogh  ;  Eng. 
ho7u,  hill.] 

hich,  see  heigh. 

hie,  adj.  high. 

hilch,  V.  halt-Ump,  prance,  cur- 
vet. 

hing,  V.  hang. 

hirple,  v.  limp. 


266 


GLOSSARY. 


hirsel,  «.  flock,  herd.  [Also 
kerdsel.'\ 

histie,  adj.  usu.  given  as  =  dry, 
parchedi.  [Perh.  it  means  'autum- 
nal';  cf.  Dan.  host,  autumn.] 

hitch,  n.  loop,  hook.  [M.E. 
kicchcnJ] 

hizzie,  n.  lass,  without  any 
derogatory  sense.  [Same  as  Eng. 
hussy,  housewife.] 

hoast,  see  host. 

hoble,  V.    same  as  Eng.  hobble. 

hodden-gray,  ;/.  coarse  gray 
cloth  of  undyed  wool. 

hoddin,//<r.  jogging  (the  motion 
of  a  man  on  a  heavy  work  horse). 

hog-shouther,  v.  jostle.  [Prob. 
fr.  hog  and  shoulder,  fr.  the  action 
of  pigs  at  a  trough  ;  prop,  a  boy's 
game  of  butting  with  the  shoulders, 
in  which  the  contestants  have  to 
hop  on  one  foot.] 

hoodock,  adj.  miserly. 

hool,  n.  hull,  shell,  sheath. 
[A.S.  hulu.'\ 

hoolie,  adv.  gently,  cautiously. 

hoord,  n.  hoard;  -et,  adj.  -ed. 

hoosie,  housie,  n.  dim.  of  house. 

horn,  )!■  ale-cup  ;  horn-spoon. 

host,  hoast,  n.  cough.  [O.N. 
hosta,  to  cough.] 

hotch,  V.  move  uneasily.  [Cf. 
O.Du.  hotsen7\ 

hough-ma-gandie,  n.  illicit  in- 
tercourse. 

houlet,  n.  owl.  [Dim.  of  owl, 
A.S.  tile,  infl.  by  howl,  and  perh. 
by  Fr.  hulotte.'] 

howdy,  n.  midwife. 

howe,  71.  valley,  hollow,  \_holl, 
to  dig ;  A.S.  hoi,  a  hole.] 


howe-backit,  adj.  hollow- 
backed. 

howk,  V.  dig.  [M.E.  holken; 
Sw.  holka  ;  cf.  A.S.  hole,  and  hol.^ 

hoy't,  V.  past  of  hoy,  call,  in- 
cite. 

hoyte,  V.  halt,  amble  clumsily. 

huff,  V.  snub,  bully.  [Orig.  to 
swell  with  insolence,  to  blow. 
Imit.  word.] 

hurcheon,  n.  hedgehog.  [O.Fr. 
herieon  ;  cf.  Eng.  urchin^ 

hurdles,  n.  hips. 

hurl,  V.  wheel.   [Same  as  whirl.'] 

v.,  prep.  in. 

icker,  n.  ear  of  grain.  [Older 
form,  echer ;  Old  Northumb. 
ah  her  ;  O.H.G.  ehir  ;  cf.  A.S.  ear  ; 
Eng.  eari\ 

-ie,  -y,  dim.  of  familiarity  or 
contempt. 

ilk,  ilka,  adj.  each,  every. 
[M.E.  like ;  A.S.  ilca?^ 

ill-willie,  adj.  malevolent,  un- 
charitable. 

indentin,  ptc.  of  indent,  bind  by 
indenture. 

ingine,  n.  genius,  talent.  [M.E. 
engine ;  L.  ingeniumP[ 

ingle,  n.  chimney-corner,  fire- 
place.    [C.  aingeal.'] 

ingle-cheek,  n.  fireside. 

ither,  adj.  other.  Cf.  brither, 
mither. 

Jad,  n.  lass,  used  in  both  good 
and  bad  sense;  orig.  a  poor  horse. 
[Also  yade,  yaud ;  Eng.  jade."] 

jauk,  V.  and  «.  trifle. 

jauner,  «.  gabble. 


GLOSSARY. 


267 


jaup,  n.  and  v.  splash.  [Also 
jalp.-] 

jee,  V.  move  slightly  :  adv.  w. 
gang,  —  gartg  jee,  open  slightly. 
[Same  as^^^.] 

jillet,  n.  longer  form  of  jilt. 
[From////.] 

jimp,  V.  modified  form  oijump. 

jing,  only  in  expletive,  '  by 
jingo.' 

jink,  V.  move  rapidly  aside  and 
about,  dodge  (as  a  hare  from  a 
hound)  :  «.  evasion,  slip. 

jinker,  «.  swift  and  agile  mover, 
sprightly  creature.     \_jink.'\ 

jo,  n.   sweetheart,  love. 

jocteleg,  n.  pocketknife,  jack- 
knife.  [SaidtobefromFr.yrtc^z/^j 
de  Liige,  a  maker  whose  name 
appeared  on  the  blades.] 

jorum,  n.  punch-bowl.  [Perh. 
C  joi-rani,  a  boat  song;  wh.  a 
social  or  convivial  song;  wh.  the 
bottle  which  always  accompanied 
the  song.] 

jouk,  V.  duck,  stoop.  [Same 
word  as  dook,  duck.  M.E.  diiken; 
Dan.  dukke ;  the  Sc.  word  deiik 
(the  fowl)  is  in  Angus  pron.ywy^'.] 

jow,  V.  oscillate,  swing  (of  a 
bell)  ;  wh.  clang.  [M.E.  jolle,  to 
knock  about  ;  wh. /£>//.] 

jundie,  v.  push  past  another. 

Kail,  n.  cabbage,  colewort;  wh. 
soup  of  which  this  is  the  chief  in- 
gredient, broth.   S^kale,  var.  of  cole^ 

kailrunt,  n.  cabbage-stem  after 
the  head  is  off. 

kane,  n.  farm  produce  paid  as 
rent.      [Also  cane,  cain,  C.  caini\ 


kebbuck,  n.  a  cheese.   [C.  cabagi] 

kebbuck-heel,  n.  last  piece  of 
the  cheese. 

keek,  v.  peep.  [M.E.  kiken, 
keken;  O.N.  kikja  or  Du.  kijken^ 

keepit,  v.  kept. 

kelpie,  n.  a  water-spirit.  [C. 
cailpeach,  a  steer  or  colt.  The 
spirit  was  supposed  to  appear  in 
form  of  a  horse.] 

ken,  V.  know.  [M.E.  kennen; 
O.N.  kenna  (A.S.  cennan  is  cau- 
sal).] 

ken'le,  v.  kindle. 

kennin,  n.  something  percepti- 
ble, a  little  bit,  a  shade,     [to;.] 

kep,  V.  catch  as  it  falls,  inter- 
cept. {U.IL.  kippen  ;  O.'N.  kippa, 
to  snatch.] 

ket,  n.  fleece. 

kiaugh,  n.  anxiety,  fret. 

kilt,  n.  kilt,  Scotch  Highlander's 
dress:  v.  tuck  up.  [Dan.  ki/ie,  to 
tuck  up  ;  cf.  O.N.  kilting,  skirt.] 

kimmer,  n.  young  woman, 
wench.  [Also  cummer,  Fr.  com- 
viere,  a  gossip.] 

king's-hood,  «•  second  stomach 
of  a  ruminating  animal ;  said  to 
be  named  from  its  fancied  resem- 
blance to  a  puckered  headdress 
worn  by  persons  of  quality. 

kirk,  n.  church.  [M.E.  kirke ; 
A.S.  cyrice  ;  cf.  O.N.  kirkja^l 

1 .  kirn,  «.  churn.  [O.N.  kirna  ; 
A.S.  cyren.'] 

2.  kirn,  «.  prop,  the  last  hand- 
ful of  grain  cut ;  wh.  harvest- 
home,  a  rustic  feast  given  to  the 
shearers  when  the  '  stuff  '  was 
safely  packed.     [Etym.  dub.] 


268 


GLOSSARY. 


kirsten,  v.  christen,  baptize, 
kitchen,    n.    relish :    v.   give   a 
relish  to. 

1.  kittle,  adj.  ticklish,  difficult 
to  handle. 

2.  kittle,  V.  tickle,  stimulate,  en- 
liven. [M.^.  kit£ie}t ;  A.^.citeliati.] 

kittlin,  ft.  kitten.  [M.E.  kite- 
linge,  dim.  fr.  kit ;  cf.  O.N. 
ketling-r.^ 

knaggie,  adj.  having  protuber- 
ances, bony  (of  a  horse),  \knag, 
a  protuberance  ;  C.  atag^ 

knappin-hammers,  n.  stone- 
breaker's  hammers.  [Du.  knap- 
pen,  to  crack.] 

knowe,  ;/.  knoll,  hillock.  [M.E. 
knol ;  A.S.  cnoll.'] 

kye,  pi.  of  cow.     [A.S.  cy.'\ 

kyte,  «.  stomach,  paunch.  [A.S. 
cwi&,  matrix;  O.N.  kvi&r,  belly.] 

kythe,  v.  show,  appear.  [M.E_ 
cy&en  ;  A.S.  cy&a?t.'\ 

Laddie,  n.  dim.  of  lad.  [Also 
pron.  lathie  ;  C.  lath.'] 

lade,  n.  load.  [M.E.  lode;  A.S. 
hladan,  to  load;  cf.  O.N.  hla&a ; 
Dan.  lade.] 

lag,  adj.  laggard,  sluggish.  [C. 
lag,  faint.] 

laggen,  «.  angle  between  the 
side  and  the  bottom  of  a  dish. 
[Cf.  O.N.  logg,  the  ledge  or  rim 
at    the    bottom   of   a   cask;    Sw. 

^«^^-] 

laigh  (gutt.),  adj.  low.  [M.E. 
lak;  O.N.  Idgr.] 

laik,  n.  lack.  [Obs.  Eng.  lak ; 
cf.  O.N.  lak-r,  defective;  Du.  lak, 
stain.] 


1.  lair,  see  lear. 

2.  lair,  V.  to  sink  when  wading 
through  snow  or  mud.  [M.E. 
lair ;  O.N.  leir,  mud.] 

laird,  n.  owner  of  land  or 
houses,  landlord.  [M.E.  laverd ; 
A.S.  hldford,  lord.] 

lairdship,  n.  property,  estate. 
\laird^ 

laith,  laithfu,  adj.  loth,  shy. 
[A.S.  ld&  ;  O.N.  lei&r^^ 

lallan,  adj.  lowland.  \law,  low, 
and  land.] 

lampit,  n.  limpet. 

Ian',  n.  land. 

lane,  adj.  lone.  [See  Gram.  In- 
trod.] 

lang,  adj.  long. 

langsyne,  n.  long  since,  long  ago. 

1 .  lap,  V.  past  of  lowp,  leap. 

2.  lap,  V.  for  lapped,  covered, 
wrapped. 

lat,  V.  let.  [M.E.  laten,  leten  ; 
A.S.  latan ;  cf.  O.N.  Idta?^ 

lave,  n.  what  is  left,  remainder. 
[M.E.  laif,  lave;  A.S.  Idf;  cf. 
O.N.  leif.] 

law,  n.  hill.  [M.E.  kldwe ;  A.S. 
filaw,  mound.] 

lay,  see  ley. 

leal,  leil,  adj.  loyal,  true,  trusty. 
[O.Fr.  leiair^ 

lear,  lair,  n.  learning.  [M.E. 
lere,  lai-e ;  A.S.  ldrP\ 

lea-rig,  «.  pasture-field. 

learn,  v.  learn,  teach.  [M.E. 
lernen  ;  A.^.  leornian.] 

lee-lang,  adj.  livelong. 

leeze,  only  in  phrase  leeze  me, 
= '  my  blessing  on.'  [He/  is  me; 
earlier  form  leuis  me.] 


GLOSSARY. 


269 


leister,  ;/.  a  three-pronged  fork, 
usu.  for  spearing  fish.  [O.N. 
Ijostr ;  Dan.  lysterP\ 

leuk,  V.  and  «.  look. 

ley,  lay  (pron.  ley),  «.  lea. 
[M.E.  leye;  A.S.  /^a/J.] 

lien  (pron.  ly'n),  ptc.  lain. 

1.  lift,  ;/.  helping  hand,  share. 
[Eng.  lift,  to  raise.] 

2.  lift,  ti.  sky.  [Same  root  as 
lift  I ;  A.S.  /j//.] 

lightly  (gutt.),  z/.  slight,  dis- 
parage. 

like,  adv.  as  it  were. 

limmer,  n.  hussy.  [O.Fr.//w?Vr, 
a  hound  ;  wh.  a  base  person.] 

lin,  linn,  n.  waterfall  with  a 
pool  below.  [C.  linne,  pool ;  cf. 
A.S.  hlynn,  torrent.] 

link,  7j.  trip,  skip ;  do  actively. 

-lins,  ndv.  term.  w.  force  of 
-ways,  &.g.,sidelins,  backliiis.  [Orig. 
-lings,  lingis ;  from  suffix  -li}ig, 
used  for  diminutives,  and  -es,  adv. 
gen.  ending.]  The  two  term,  are 
seen  in  hafflin  =  a  half-grown 
man  ;  and  hafflins  =  partially. 

lint,  71.  flax.  [M.E.  and  A.S. 
lln ;  L.  li?u(>?i.'\ 

lintwhite,  n.  linnet.  [Early 
form,  lyutqiihite ;  A.S.  Itnetwige: 
lln,  because  it  feeds  among  the 
lint.] 

listen,  V.  hearken  to. 

loan,  n.  lane  in  the  country  be- 
tween two  hedge-rows.  [M.E. 
lone ;  A.S.  lane,  lone.] 

loe  (pron.  lii  or  loo),  v.  love. 

loof  (pron.  liif),  n.  palm.  [O.N. 
lof.] 

loon,  see  loun. 


loot,  past  of  lat,  permitted  ;  lool 
on,  '  let  on,'  gave  evidence. 

loun,  loon,  ;/.  rogue  ;  young 
lad.     [Akin  to  O.Du.  loen,  fool.] 

lowe,  //.  and  V.  flame.  [M.E. 
lowe ;  O.N.  log,  logi ;  cf.  Dan.  hie.] 

lowp,  V.  leap.     [O.N.  hlanpa.] 

1.  lowse  (sharp  s),  adj.  loose. 
[O.N.  latiss  ;  cf.  M.E.  loos?^ 

2.  lowse  (pron.  lowz),  v.  loosen. 
\lo%vse  I  ;  cf.  M.E.  losien.] 

luckie,  n.  mistress,  usually  with 
a  shade  of  contempt,  a  designation 
given  to  an  elderly  woman.  [Cf. 
Goody.] 

lug,  n.  ear  ;  chimla  hig,  side  of 
the  fireplace.  [Perh.  Sw.  liigg, 
the  forelock,  and  so  conn,  with  v. 
hig,  wh.  orig.  meant  '  to  pull  by 
the  forelock.'] 

lugget,  ptc.  having  'lugs,'  or 
raised  handles. 

luggie,  n.  small  tub  with  '  lugs ' 
used  for  milking. 

lum,  n.  chimney.     [C.  llunton.'] 

lunt,  n.  light,  smoke,  steam. 
[Dan.  Itinte ;  Du.  lont,  a  match; 
wh.  luntin,  smoking.] 

luve,  V.  and  ;/.  love.  [Cf.  loe ; 
A.S.  Infan.] 

lyart, «({)'. gray.  [Also //</r/,-  M.E. 
Hard ;  O.Fr.  Hard,  dapple-gray.] 

Mae,  adj.  more.  [A.S.  wJ;  cf. 
M.E.  tno.] 

mailin,  «.  farm  ;  land  rented. 
\7nail,  rent ;  Fr.  maille,  a  coin.] 

mair,  adj.  more.  [A.S.  mdra  ; 
O.N.  weiri.] 

maist,  adf  most:  adv.  almost. 
[A.S.  /n<£st.] 


270 


GLOSSARY. 


mak,  V.  make. 

mang,  prep,  among. 

manteel,  n.  mantle.  [O.Fr. 
mantel.'\ 

mark,  «.  a  sum  of  money  = 
13s.  4d.  stg.;  a  mark  Scots  would 
be  IS.  i>^d.,  or  26%)^. 

marled,  pic.  mixed,  mottled, 
checkered,  \jnarl,  a  mixture  of 
lime,  clay,  and  sand,  fr.  O.Fr. 
j?iarle.'\ 

maukin, ;/.  hare.  [M.E.  malkin, 
dim.  of  Maud,  a  general  name  for 
a  kitchen  girl;  wh.  applied  to 
cats  (cf.  grimalkin)  and  to  hares, 
like  puss.^ 

maun,  v.  must.  [O.N.  viunu, 
shall.] 

maut,  71.  malt. 

mavis,  n.  thrush.    [Fr.  manvis.'] 

mebbie,  adv.  perhaps.   [May  de.] 

meere,  meare,  mear,  «.  mare. 
[M.E.  and  A.S.  were.] 

meikle,  mickle,  muckle,  adj. 
much.  [M.E.  mikel,  niukel ;  A.S. 
micel ;  cf.  O.N.  mikill,  great.] 

melder,  n.  quantity  (indefinite) 
of  grain  sent  to  the  mill  to  be 
ground.     [O.N.  meldr.] 

mell,  V.  mix,  associate.  [M.E. 
mellen  ;  Fr.  meler.'] 

melvie,  v.  soil  (as  with  meal). 
[Prob.  M.E.  mele,  meal ; '  A.S. 
melu.'] 

men',  v.  mend. 

mense,  n.  discretion,  decorum. 
[Also  mensk ;  M.E.  and  A.S. 
mennisc,  humane  ;  O.N.  inen7isk-r, 
fr.  man?^ 

menseless,  adj.  void  of  discre- 
tion, '  misleared.'     {niense.] 


merle,  «.  blackbird.     [Fr.] 

messan,  messin,  n.  cur. 

midden,  «.  dungheap.  [M.E. 
midding ;  Dan.  mogdyttgei] 

midden-hole,  a  standing  pool 
at  the  end  of  the  dunghill. 

midgie,  w.  midge,  dimm.  [M.E. 
migge  ;  A.S.  my  eg.] 

mill,  71.  snuffbox  (said  to  be 
so  called  from  the  grinding  of  the 
tobacco  leaves  which  used  to  be 
done  in  the  box). 

mim,  adj.  prim,  affectedly  pre- 
cise. [Softer  form  of  tuiwi,  de- 
mure.] 

mind,  v.  remind,  recollect,  heed. 

minnie,  «.  mother.  [Cf.  Du. 
7nin7ie,  wet-nurse.] 

mirk,  «.  murk,  darkness.  [A.S. 
f7iierce.~\ 

misca,  v.  miscall,  abuse. 

mischanter,  71.  mischief,  acci- 
dent. \771iska71ter,  77iis-  and  aunter, 
O.Fr.  ave7ihire.'\ 

misguide,  v.  squander  (of 
money). 

mislear't,  adj.  unmannerly,  ill- 
bred  ;  cf .  t7ie/iseless.  \niis-  and 
lear''t,  taught.] 

moop,  moup,  v.  mump,  nibble. 
[Imit.  word.] 

moorlan,  adj.  belonging  to  the 
moors. 

morn,  «.  morrow ;  the  tnorn, 
to-morrow.  [M.E.  7no7-wein  ;  A.S. 
morgeji,  7/ior{g)fze.j 

mottie,  adj.  full  of  motes. 

mou,  71.  mouth. 

moudiewart, «.  mo\e.[M.E.f7io/d- 
■werp  ;  A.S.  77iolde,  ?,oA\  weorpan, 
to  throw  up;  cf.  O.N.  tnoldvarpaI\ 


GLOSSARY. 


271 


muckle,  adj.  see  meikle. 

muslin-kail,  n.  very  thin  soup ; 
barley-soup  with  scarcely  any  vege- 
tables. [Perh.  masiin,  mashiitn, 
mixed  grain  ;  wh.  corrupted 
through  assoc.  with  viuslin.'\ 

mutchkin,  n.  pint.  [Dan.  7nutsje, 
quartern  ;  lit.  a  cap  ;  wh.  So.  mutch, 
cap  ;  cf.  the  Scotch  '  tappit  hen.'] 

1.  Na,  co>iJ.  nor  ;  see  nor.  [A.S. 
ne,  nd.~\ 

2.  -na,  termination  = 'kind of,' 
whatna,  sicna. 

3.  na,  I.  nae,  adv.  not.  [A.S. 
nd,  ne.'\ 

2.  nae,  adj.  no,  not  any. 

naething,  «.  nothing. 

naig,  naiggie,  naggie,  «.  nag, 
horse.  [M.E.na^^ge ;  O.Du.ne^ge.] 

nana,  adj.  none. 

nappy,  n.  ale.  [Prim,  the  adj. 
=  '  strong,' '  heady  '  (of  ale).] 

near-hand,  adv.  nearly. 

neibor,  «.  neighbor. 

neist,  see  >iit:<t. 

neive,  neave  (pron.  nev),  u.  fist. 
[M.E.  Me/e,  hnefe ;  O.N.  hneji ; 
Dan.  ncEve.'\ 

neive-fu  (pron.  neffa),  n.  fistful, 
handful. 

neuk,  ;/.  nook,  corner.  [C. 
niuc.^ 

1.  Nick,  n.  auld  Nick,  the  deil. 
[A.S.  nicor,  a  water-goblin ;  cf. 
O.N.  nykr.l 

2.  nick,  V.  cut.  [Same  root  as 
notc^t.'] 

niest,  adj.  next.     [A.S.  tiie/ist.'\ 
niffer,    neifer,    ?■.    and     ;/.    ex- 
change, '  swap.'     [neive.] 


nine,  nines,  in  phr.  '  to  the 
nines '  =  perfection. 

nit,  n.  nut.     [The  /  is  local.] 

no,  adv.  not. 

nor,  cofrj.  than  ;  see  na. 

norwast,   «.  northwest  wind. 

nowte,  «.  cattle,  neat.  [O.N. 
naut ;  A.S.  neat.] 

0',  fre/.  of. 

onie,  ony,    ad/',  any. 

00,  also  written  woo  (pron.  oo), 
«.  wool.  [O.N.  te// ;  A.S.  w;///; 
for  loss  of  //  ci.  p,ti,fu.] 

or,  conj.  ere.  [M.E.  or,  ar,  var. 
of  er.     [A.S.  ar.] 

ourie,  adj.  dull,  drooping.  [Usu. 
given  fr.  O.N.  ur,  rain;  ilrigr, 
wet ;  prob.  only  a  var.  of  weary ; 
cf.  00k,  week,  and  00,  we.] 

outler,  adj.  unhoused,  \-ler  is 
prob.  a  mere  term,  added  to  07tt  : 
cf .  tinkler,  pantler  ;  cf.  also  otitlin 
=  an  alien.] 

outowre,  prep,  out  over,  over. 
[Cf.  at  tour.] 

owrehip,  adv.  overhip,  applied 
to  the  swing  of  the  sledge-hammer. 

Owsen,  n.  oxen.      [Cf.  neist.] 

Pack,  adj.  close,  intimate  ;  pack 
an'  thick,  very  intimate,  'thrang.' 

paidle,  v.  paddle ;  dabble  in 
water ;  walk  with  short  steps. 
[¥ or  pattte,  freq.  oi  pat ;  and  cf. 
Fr.  patouiller.] 

painch,  n.  paunch,  stomach ; 
tripe.      [( >.  Fr.  panche.] 

paitrick,  n.  partridge.  [M.E. 
pertriche  ;  O.  Fr.  pertris.] 

pang,  v.  stuff, cram.  \\..pattgere.'\ 


272 


GLOSSARY. 


parritch,  n.  porridge  (usu.  oat- 
meal). 

pat,  past  oi  pit,  put. 

pattle,  n.  plow-spade.  [Same 
word  2lS  paddle,  a  small  spade.] 

paughty  (gutt.),  adj.  haughty. 
[Cf.  Du.  pochen,  to  be  proud.] 

paukie,  pawkie,  adj.  shrewd, 
cunning,  ' slee.'  [Sc./fl?</^, a  wile; 
cf.  A.S.  paean,  to  deceive.] 

pechan,  n.  stomach. 

penny-fee,  n.  money-wages. 

penny-weep,  n.  small  ale. 
\wheep  =wkip.'\ 

pettle,  s&e  pattle. 

philabeg,  seejilaieg. 

phiz,  n.  physiognomy,  face. 
[M.E.  fisnamie  ;  O.Fr.  phisono- 
mie.'\ 

phraisin, //■<:.  flattering.  \^phrase, 
to  make  fine  speeches.] 

pickle,  puckle,  n.  a  grain  of 
corn  ;  a  small  quantity  of  anything. 
\Jiickle,  to  glean,  to  pick  up  grains; 
pick^^ 

pit,  V.  put. 

plack,  n.  a  small  coin,  two 
bodies,  four  pence  Scots,  one- 
third  of  an  English  penny,  two- 
thirds  of  a  cent.     \O.Yx.  plaque^ 

plackless,  adj.  penniless,  poor. 
Iplack?^ 

plaid  (pron.  play'd),  n.  a  long, 
narrow  shawl  worn  by  Highland- 
ers.    [C.  platde-l 

plaister,  n.  plaster  (also  form, 
spelled  plaister). 

plea,  pley,  n.  quarrel,  disagree- 
ment :  V.  disagree.  [M.E.  pie, 
plaid ;  O.  Fr.  plait,  a  plea  at 
law.] 


planish,  v.  furnish  (a  house)  ; 
stock  (a  farm).     [O.Fr.  plenir.'] 

pleugh  (gutt.),«.  plow.  [M.E. 
plok;  O.N.  plog-r.  The  A.S. 
plog  is  a  measure  of  land.] 

pock,  n.  bag,  sack.  [M.E.  poke  ; 
etc. poca;  0.1<i. poki.'] 

poind,  V.  impound.  [M.E.  putt- 
den  ;  A.S.  pyndan,  to  shut  up.] 

poortith,  n.  poverty.  [Older 
form  purtye ;  O.Fr.  poiirete  ;  the 
-th  is  an  accretion.] 

pou,  V.  s,ee  pu'. 

pouch,    n.   pocket   (in  clothes) 
[O.Yr.poucke.      It  is  a  doublet  of 
pock.'\ 

pouk,  V.  poke.  [M.E.  pukken, 
poken,  to  thrust ;  C.  poc,  a  blow.] 

poussie,  see  pussie. 

pouthery,  adj.  powdered.  [Cf. 
shoiither.'\ 

pow,  n.  head,  poll.    [Cf .  kno^we^^ 

pownie,  n.  pony.    \jZ.  ponaidh?^ 

prank,  n.  act  of  mischief. 
\^prank,  to  trick  out.] 

pree,  v.  taste.  [For  preif; 
M.E.  preven ;  O.Fr.  prover,  to 
prove.] 

preen,  n.  pin.  [M.E.  pren ; 
A.S.  preon.l 

preif,  prief,  n.  proof.  [M.E. 
pree/;  F.preztz/e.'] 

prig,  V.  entreat,  insist  upon ; 
haggle  (at  a  bargain).  [A  modi- 
fication oi  prick.] 

primsie,  adj.  demure.  [Eng. 
prim;  O.  Yx. prim.] 

propone,  v.  set  forth,  advance. 
[A  law  term.] 

proves,  «.  provost,  chief  magis- 
trate.    \Q).Yx.  provost^^ 


GLOSSARY. 


273 


pu',  V.  pull,  pluck, 
puir,  adj.  poor. 

pund,  n.  pound.    A  pound  Scots 
=  \s.  Sd.  stg.,  or  40  cents. 
pussie,  poussie,  «.  hare. 

Quat,  past  of  ^tai. 

quaukin,  pu.  quaking.  [A.S. 
cwacu!n.'\ 

quean,  «.  young  woman,  wench 
(used  in  both  good  and  bad  sense). 
[A.S.  cwciie,  of.  A.S.  c«/^«.] 

quey,  n.  heifer,  [Cf.  Dan.  kvie ; 
O.N.  kviga.l 

quo',  V.  quoth. 

Rab,  n.  Rob,  Robert. 

raible,  v.  rattle  off  nonsense : 
n.  nonsensical  talk.  [Same  as 
rabble;  M.E.  rablen ;  cf.  O.Du. 
rabelen,  to  mutter.] 

rair,  v.  roar  (of  ice  breaking  up, 
or  the  plow  cutting  through 
roots).  [A.S.  rdrian;  cf.  O.Du. 
reeren!\ 

raize,  v.  madden,  excite.  [M.E. 
reiseit,  O.N.  reisa,  raise.] 

ram-stam,  adj.  precipitate, 
headlong.  [Prob.  rrtw,  to  drive 
with  violence,  and  stam^  a  rim- 
ing syllable,  intens. ;  cf.  hurly- 
burly^ 

rant,  v.  riot,  live  hilariously  :  n. 
noisy  mirth,  jollification.  [Eng. 
rant,  to  be  noisy  or  bombastic] 

rantin,  adj.  full  of  animal  spirits  ; 
wh.  rantinly. 

rape,  «.  rope.  [A..S.  rap;  cf. 
O.N.  reip ;   Uu.  reep?^ 

rase,  past  of  rise.  [M.E.  pret. 
ras!\ 


rash,  n.  rush.  [Cf.  M.E.  resche ; 
A.S.  risceP[ 

ratton,  n.  rat.  [M.E.  raton; 
O.Fr.  raton. '\ 

raught  (gutt.),  past  of  rax,  q.  v. 

raw,  «.  row,  line.  [M.E.  raa/^; 
A.S.  rdw^ 

rax,  V.  reach  ;  stretch.  [M.E. 
raxen,  recchen,  pret.  rahte ;  A.S. 
racan,  rmkte^ 

ream,  n.  cream,  froth :  v. 
mantle,  froth.  [M.E.  rea7n  ;  A.S. 
rea7nP\ 

reave,  reive,  v.  rob,  plunder. 
[M.E.  reaven ;  A.S.  reajiatt ;  cf. 
Eng.  bereave.'] 

red,  V.  counsel,  advise.  [M.E. 
and  A.S.  rad,  counsel.] 

red-wat-shod,  adj.  walking  in 
blood,  \_red  (the  color),  and  wat- 
shod ;   M.E.  wat-shod.] 

red-wud,  adj.  stark-mad.  \red, 
intensive;  M.E.  and  A.S.  wod, 
mad.] 

reek,  n.  and  v.  smoke;  steam. 
[M.E.  rek ;  A.S.  rec] 

reestit, //■<:.  smoke-dried,  singed. 
[O.N.  rist,  a  gridiron;  Dan.  ristc, 
to  broil.] 

reif,  rief,  «.  theft.  [M.E.  and 
A.S.  rcaf,  spoil.] 

reive,  see  reave. 

rig,  n.  ridge,  row;  properly  the 
raised  portion  between  two  fur- 
rows, about  a  rod  in  breadth. 
[Same  as  ridge  ;  A.S.  hrycg ;  cf. 
Dan.  rygi\ 

riggin,  «.  ridging,  roof-timbers 
rafters.      [''<?■•] 

rigwiddie,  n.  used  as  adj.,  the 
rope  {widdie)    which    crosses   the 


274 


GLOSSARY. 


back  (rig)  of  the  horse  to  support 
the  shafts  :  wh.  adj.  ropy-looking, 
dried-up,  tough.    \rig  and  widdie.^ 

rin,  V.  run. 

ripp,  n.  handful  of  grain  not 
threshed.  [M.E.  and  A.S.  rip, 
reaping,  a  sheaf  of  corn.] 

riskit,  ptc.  cracked  (a  word 
expr.  of  the  noise  made  by  tearing 
roots).     [A.S.  */^ryj'ca«,  to  creak.] 

rive,  V.  burst,  split  open  ;  tear 
to  pieces.  [M.E.  riven  ;  O.N. 
rifa?^ 

rock,  n.  distaff.  [M.E.  rocke ; 
cf.  Du.  rok ;  O.N.  rokkr?\^ 

roose,  ruse,  v.  praise,  extol. 
[M.E.  roj^w;  O^.  hrdsaP\ 

rousin',  ptc.  rousing,  big. 

rout,  n.  way.     [Fr.  roiite^^ 

rowin,  pic.  roving,  'stravagin.' 

row,  rowe,  v.  roll,  wrap.  [Cf. 
pow.^ 

rowte,  V.  low,  bellow.  [M.E. 
route ?i ;  A.S.  kriitan ;  cf.  O.N. 
rauta.'\ 

rowth,  ft.  abundance.  [Perh. 
conn.  w.  roiigh  {rock)  as  sowt/t  w. 
sough.'] 

runkled,  ptc.  wrinkled.  [M.E. 
runklen  ;  M.Du.  wronkelett.] 

runt,  n.  stump,  stalk  with  root 
attached,  as  in  kail-runt. 


Sae,  adv.  so. 
saft,  adj.  soft. 

1.  sair,  V.  serve.  [Cf.  Fr.  Je 
sers.~\ 

2.  sair,  adj.  sore,  heavy :  adv. 
extremely.  [M.E.  ser,  sar ;  A.S. 
sdr ;  cf.  O.N.  sdrr.'\ 


sang,  n.  song. 

sark,  serk,  «.  shirt.  [M.E. 
serke ;  A.S.  sere ;  O.N.  serkr^ 

sarkit,  adj.  shirted  ;  kalf-sarkit, 
with  poor  underclothing. 

saugh  (gutt.),  n.  willow,  sallow. 
[M.E.  salhe ;  A.S.  sealh?^ 

saul,  n.  soul.  [M.E.  saule ; 
A.S.  sdwl?[ 

saumont,  n.  salmon.  [For  the 
/,  cf.  tyrant^ 

saunt,  n.  saint,  \sanct ;  O.Fr. 
sainct^ 

saut,  n.  salt. 

sautit,  ptc.  salted. 

1.  saw,  V.  sow  (seed).  [A.S. 
sdwan^ 

2.  saw,  «.  salve.  [M.E.  j«^y 
A.S.  seal/.] 

sax,  adj.  six.    [The  a  is  unique.] 
scaith,  n.  and  v.  harm,  scathe, 
scaud,  V.  scald.  [O.Fr.  eschalder, 
later  esckauder.] 

1 .  scaur,  V.  scare :  adj.  timid , 
[Cf.  O.N.  skjarr.] 

2.  scaur,  n.  cliff,  scar.  [M.E, 
scarre,  rock  ;  cf.  O.N.  sker,  a  rocky 
islet.] 

scawl,  n.  scold,  scolding  wife. 

scho,  pron.  she. 

scone  (pron.  scon),  n.  cake  of 
flour  or  barley-meal,  'bannock.' 

scower,  v.  scour,  run  precipi- 
tately.    [O.Fr.  escourre.] 

scraichin,  ptc.  screeching.  [Cf. 
O.N.  skrcckja  ;  C.  sgreach.~\ 

screed,  «.  rent,  tear.  [M.E. 
screde,  A.S.  scread,  shred.] 

scrievin,  ptc.  rushing.  [Cf. 
O.N.  skref,  Dan.  skrev,  pace.] 


scrimp, 


stint.       [Akin   to 


GLOSSARY. 


275 


shrimp  and  shrink ;  cf.  Dan. 
skrumpe,  shrivel.] 

scrimply,  adv.  scarcely. 

scroggie,  adj.  abounding  in 
stunted  bushes  {scrogs).  [C. 
sgrogag,  stunted  timber.] 

scunner,  sconner,  ;/.  disgust, 
loathing :  v.  to  loathe.  [M.E. 
sconien  ;  A.S.  sctmian,  shun.] 

see'd,  for  saw  (unusual). 

seizin,  n.  possessions  (a  law 
term).      [O.Fr.  saisitie.'\ 

sel,  adj.  self. 

sen',  V.  send  ;  grant,  bless  you 
with. 

1.  set,  V.  send  {D.  D.  //.). 

2.  set,  V.  become,  suit.  [Same 
as  j/V.] 

shachl't,  adj.  splay,  misshapen. 
\shachle,  to  walk  clumsily  in  loose 
shoes  ;  schach,  distort  ;  cf.  O.N. 
skakk-r^ 

shank,  w.  leg.     [A.S.  scanca.'\ 

shaul,  adj.  shallow.  [M.E. 
schold,  schald.~\ 

shaver, «. wag,  trickster,  [shavie.'] 

shavie,  n.  trick,  '  pliskie.'  [Cf. 
O.N.  skeif-r,  Dan.  skjcev,  crooked  ; 
but  perh.  both  words  are  from 
shave,  to  drive  a  close  bargain,  to 
cheat.] 

shaw,  n.  wood,  wooded  dell. 
[M.E.  schawe ;  A.S.  scaga,  copse.] 

shear,  v.  clip  ;  reap  grain. 

shearer,  n.  reaper. 

sheepshank,  ;/.  leg-bone  of  a 
sheep ;  something  thin  and  weak  : 
Nae  sheepshank,  a  person  of  im- 
portance. 

sheugh  (gutt.),  ;/.  furrow,  ditch. 
[Also  seugh  ;     prob.  M.E.  songh, 


trench,  conn.  w.  A.S.  sulh,  L.  j«/- 
ciis,  a  furrow.] 

shiel,  n.  hut,  cottage.  [Cf.  O.N. 
skjdl,  shelter.] 

shift,  V.  exchange,  shift  places. 

shill,  adj.  shrill,  resounding. 
[U.K.schil;  A.S.  jry/.] 

shog,  n.  a  shake  causing  oscil- 
lation ;  shock.  [M.E.  schoggen ; 
cf.  F.  choc  ;  Du.  schok.'\ 

shool,  n.  shovel.  [M.E.  schonle  ; 
A.S.  scoji.] 

shoon,  n.  shoes.  [M.E.  scho, 
schoon.'\ 

shore,  v.  offer  ;  threaten,  [adj. 
schor,  sheer  (of  rocks)  and  so 
threatening.] 

sic,  adj.  such  ;  siclike,  such-like. 

siccan,  adj.  such  kind  of.  [Also 
sican  a  =  sic  kin'  d"  ;  cf.  whatna.] 

sicker,  adj.  steady  ;  sure.  [M.E. 
sikcr  ;  A..?>.  sicor  ;  L.  securus.'] 

sldelins,  adv.  sideways,  ob- 
liquely.    [See  •lins.'] 

1.  siller,  n.  money,  riches. 
[silver. ~\ 

2.  siller,  adj.  silvery,  made  of 
silver. 

silly,  adj.  simple,  weak.  [M.E. 
sely  ;  A.S.  siFlig.'] 

simmer,  n.  summer.  [Cf.  kim- 
mer.~\ 

sin,  conj.  since.  [M.E.  sin,  for 
si&&en.^ 

skaith,  see  scathe. 

skeigh  (gutt.),  adj.  shy  and  skit- 
tish, high-spirited.  [M.E.  skey  ; 
A.S.  sccoh  ;  Dan.  sky.] 

skellum,  n.  wretch,  worthless 
fellow.  [O.N.  ske/niir,  a.  rogue; 
Sw.  skd//n.] 


276 


GLOSSARY. 


skelp,  n.  slap,  blow  with  the 
open  hand  :  v.  to  slap  :  wh.  (from 
the  ringing  noise  made  by  the  feet) 
to  run  with  alacrity.  [C.  sgealp, 
a  slap.] 

skelpie-limmer,  n.  young  hussy. 
[See  limtiier  ;  skelpie  in  this  conn, 
prob.  = '  gadabout.'] 

skeivy,  adj.  shelving.  \_skelf, 
shelf  ;  A.S.  scylfe^ 

skinkin,  ptc.  thin,  liquid.  [A.S. 
scencafi,  to  pour;  ^.^.  schencJien  ; 
O.N.  skenkja.'\ 

skirl,  V.  and  n.  scream.  [Cf. 
M.E.  schrillen ;  Norw.  skrcela, 
skryla.'] 

sklent,  V.  slant,  direct  with 
oblique  intention  :  «.  deviation, 
digression.  [M.E.  slentett,  sclen- 
teti  (cf.  sclendre,  slender) ;  O.Sw. 
slinta,  to  slide.] 

skouth,  n.  scope,  liberty  to 
range. 

skreigh,  v.  screech.  [M.E. 
skrichen ;  O.N.  skrikja  (of  sup- 
pressed laughter)  ;  cf.  scratch^ 

slade,  past  of  j/iat= slipped. 

slae,  n.  sloe.     [A.S.  sldP\ 

slap,  71.  opening  in  a  fence  or 
thicket  or  between  hills.  [Cf.  Sc. 
slack^ 

slee,  adj.  sly,  knowing, '  pawky.' 
[M.E.  slie,  sleh  ;  O.N.  slag-r.l 

sleekit,  adj.  sleek.  [M.E.  sleke, 
O.N.  sltkr,  smooth.] 

slight  (gutt.),  trick,  sleight  ; 
skill.      [O.N.  slceg&  ;  cf.  slee.'] 

sloken,  v.  slake,  quench.  [M.E. 
slokiien  ;  O.N.  sldkva,  to  quench.] 

sly,  adj.  see  slee  (good  or  bad 
sense). 


slype,  V.  fall  gently  over,  slip. 

[A.S.  *sltpan.'\ 

sma,  adj.  small. 

smeek,  «.  and  v.  smoke.  [Also 
sfn  00 k  ;  A .  S .  J  w  eoca  n .  ] 

smiddie,  «.  smithy.  [For  d, 
cf.  widdie,  stiddie  ;  M.E.  and  A.S. 
smi&&e  ;  cf.  Dan.  smidse.] 

smoor,  V.  smother,  choke.  [M.E. 
smoren  ;  A.S.  stnorian.] 

smoutie,  adj.  smutty,  dirty. 

smytrie,  n.  small  number,  smat- 
tering. 

snapper,  v.  stumble.  [Freq.  of 
snap.] 

snash,  n.  abusive  language,  in- 
solence. 

snaw,«.snow;  wh.j;/aw/>,snowy. 

snaw-broo,  n.  melted  snow. 

sneck,  n.  latch.  [Akin  to 
snatch  ;  M.E.  snekke.] 

sneck-drawin,  adj.  latch-lifting, 
sneaking. 

sned,  V.  lop,  cut  off.  [M.E.  and 
A.S.  snadan,  to  cut.] 

sneesh,  sneeshin,  «.  snuff. 
[Same  as  sneeze ;  M.E.  snesen  or 
fnesen  ;  A.S.  fneosan,  to  sneeze  ; 
for  sh,  cf.  creesk^ 

sneeshin-mill,  n.  snuffbox. 
[See  mill.] 

snell,  adj.  keen,  piercing.  [M.E. 
and  A.S.  snel.] 

snool,  V.  snub,  keep  under ; 
submit  tamely,  cringe.  [For 
snovel  (cf.  shool)  ;  M.E.  snuvelen  ; 
cf.  Dan.  sndvle,  to  snivel.] 

snoove,  v.:  snoove  awa,  take  a 
breath  and  move  on,  move  on  with 
a  sniff  or  snort.  [M.E.  snuven, 
to  pant ;  O.Du.  snuiven.'] 


GLOSSARY. 


277 


snowk,  V.  smell  out,  poke  the 
nose  into.  [M.E.  snoken ;  L.G. 
snokeft ;  Sw.  snoka.^ 

snuggit, /^<f.  snugged,  made  se- 
cure. 

soger,  n.  soldier.  [Cf.  M.E. 
sodiour.'] 

something,  adv.  somewhat. 

so'ns,  71.  sowens,  flummery,  a 
kind  of  porridge  made  of  the  juice 
of  oat  husks.  [M.E.  seatc,  A.S. 
seaw,  juice.] 

sonsie,  adj.  plump  and  good- 
natured,  buxom,  well-conditioned. 
[^soHS,  happiness;  C.  sonas.^ 

soom,  V.  swim.  [Same  as  swim  ; 
cf.  M.E.  sote,  sweet,  and  Sc.  soop, 
sweep.] 

sootie,  adj.  covered  with  soot. 

sough,  sugh  (gutt.),  ti.  the  sound 
the  wind  makes  in  trees.  [Imit. 
word;  cf.  O.N.  siigr,  a  rushing 
sound  ;  M.E.  swogen,  A.S.  swogan, 
to  moan.] 

soupe,  see  sowp. 

souple,  adj.  supple,  pliant.  [Fr. 
soitple.^ 

souter,  «.  cobbler,  shoemaker. 
[M.E.  souter e ;  A.S.  sutere  ;  L. 
sutor?\ 

sowp,  n.  spoonful,  sup,  liquid 
food.  [M.E.  soupen,  A.S.  supan, 
to  sup. 

sowth,  V.  whistle  softly.  [Perh. 
conn.  w.  sough.'\ 

sowther,  v.  solder.  [Also  saw- 
der ;  O.Fr.  sender,  to  cement;  cf. 
shoutherP\ 

spae,  V.  spell,  foretell.  [M.E. 
and  O.N.  spa,  prophecy.] 

spairge,  v.  scatter  liquid,  splash ; 


asperse.  [Fr.  asperger ;  L.  spar- 
gere.] 

spak,  past  of  speak. 

spate,  «.  flood.     [C.  speid.] 

spaviet,/^f .  spavined,    [spavhi.] 

spean,  v.  wean.  [M.E.  spa/ten, 
A.S.  spanan,  to  entice  ;  cf.  I)u. 
spenen,  to  wean.] 

speel,  V.  climb,  mount. 

spence,  n.  inner  room ;  prop, 
the  place  where  the  provisions  are 
kept,  the  buttery.  [O.Fr.  des- 
pense  ;  l^.  dtspensorium.~\ 

spier,  V.  ask.  [M.E.  spire,  A.S. 
spyrian,  to  track,  inquire  into.] 

spleuchan,  «.  tobacco  pouch. 
[C.  spliuchan.'] 

splore,  «.  revel,  jollification ; 
long-winded  talk. 

spottin,  ptc.  discoloring  with 
splashes  of  wet. 

sprachle,  v.  scramble.  [Cf. 
O.N.  spraukla.'] 

sprattle,  v.  sprawl.  [Cf.  Sw. 
sprattlal\ 

spring,  n.  piece  of  dance  music. 

spritty,  adj.  full  of  tangled 
roots  of  bent,  etc.  [Also  sprotty  ; 
A.S.  sprot,  a  sprout;  spryttatt.'] 

spunk,  n.  spark  ;  fire,  mettle. 
[C.  sponc,  tinder.] 

1.  spunkie,  adj. spirited,  [sptmk.'] 

2.  spunkie,  «.  will-o'-the-wisp. 
[Do.] 

squatter,  ?'.  a  word  expressive 
of  the  sound  made  by  a  duck 
rising  from  the  water,  a  combina- 
tion of  flutter  and  splash.  [Cf. 
O.N.  skvetta,  to  squirt  water.] 

stacher,  v.  stagger  as  under  a 
load.  [M.E.  stakeren;  O.N.  siakra.'\ 


278 


GLOSSARY. 


stack,  V.  past  of  stick. 

Staggie,  n.  colt.  [Dim.  of  staig, 
a  young  unbroken  horse,  a  stal- 
lion ;  same  word  as  Eng.  stag^ 

Stan',  n.  and  v.  stand. 

stane,   n.   stone.      [A.S.  std7t^ 

stank,  n.  ditch  with  stagnant 
water,  a  pool.  \}li.Y..  stanc  ;  O.Fr. 
estanc  ;  L.  stagtitim^ 

stan't,  V.  p.  p.  of  stan^  =  stood. 

1.  stap,  V.  stop. 

2.  stap,  n.  step.      [A.S.  site/e.] 
staukin,  pU.  stalking. 
staumrel,   adj.   applied   to  one 

whose  action  is  of  a  stupid,  stum- 
bling kind ;  doltish.  [Cf .  Eng.  stam- 
mer, stumble^ 

1.  staw,  V.  past  of  steal ;  p.  p. 
stown. 

2.  staw,  v.  surfeit.  [Cf.  Nor- 
thumb.  stall,  to  satiate ;  the  idea 
is  taken  from  the  stall-feeding  of 
cattle,  i.e.,  feeding  to  satiety.] 

stechin,  ptc.  of  steck,  pant  with 
fatigue  or  repletion. 

1.  steek,  «.  stitch.    [A.S.  j/f/<r^.] 

2.  steek,  V.  shut  close.  [M.E. 
steken  ;  same  root  as  above.] 

steer,  v.  stir;  molest,  hurt. 
[A.S.  styrianl\ 

steeve,  steive,  adj.  firm,  well- 
knit  (coupled  with  buirdly,  which 
implies  strong  appearance,  while 
swank  adds  a  touch  of  elegance). 
[A.S.  stif,  the  vowel  being  short- 
ened in  stiff;  Dan.  stiv^ 

stell,  n.  still. 

sten,  V.  and  n.  leap,  bound. 
[For  stend ;  O.Fr.  estetidre,  to 
stretch,  take  long  elastic  steps.] 

stent,  n.  tax,  levy.    [M.E.  stent ; 


O.Fr.  estente,  a  valuation  for  as- 
sessment ;  L.  extenta.] 

stey,  adf.  steep.   [Obs.  Eng.  sty ; 
M.E.  stighen;  A.S.  itigan,  to  rise.] 
stibble,  n.  stubble. 
stibble-rig,  «.  leading  reaper, 
stile,   n.  gate :   prop,   a   set    of 
steps  for  climbing  over  a  fence. 
[M.E.  stile;  A.S.  stigol ;  cf.  stey.] 
stilt,    V.    lift    the    feet    high  ; 
prance. 

stimpart,  n.  a  measure,  one- 
fourth  of  a  peck ;  the  '  sixteenth 
part '  of  a  bushel.  [Erron.  der. 
fr.  huitieme  part.] 

stirk,  n.  a  one-year  old  steer. 
[M.E.  stirk  ;  A.S.  styric.] 

stock,  ft.  cabbage  plant.  [A.S. 
stocc,  trunk.] 

stock,  >i.  shock  of  sheaves.  [Cf. 
L.G.  stiike,  bundle.] 

stookit,  ptc.  set  up  in  shocks. 
stoup,  see  stowp. 
stour,  adj.  strong,  harsh.   [M.E. 
and  A.S.  stor^ 

stoure,  n.  turmoil,  struggle;  wh. 
dust  in  motion.  [M.E.  star ;  prob. 
O.Fr.  estouri] 

stowlins,  adv.  stealthily,  \stown, 
stolen,  and  -linsl\ 

stowp,  71.  drinking  vessel.  [O.N. 
stamp  ;  cf.  A.S.  steap.] 

stoyte,  V.  stumble.  [Du.  stuyten, 
to  bounce ;  M.E.  stolen,  to  stutter.] 
strae,    «.   straw.      [M.E.   stre ; 
A.S.  streaw.] 

straik,  v.  stroke,  smooth  down. 
[M.IL.  straken  ;  A.S.  strdciafz.] 

Strang,  adj.  strong.  [M.E.  and 
A.S.  Strang.] 

strappin,  ad/,   strapping;    tall, 


GLOSS  A  HV. 


279 


handsome,  and  well-built ;  cf. 
strapper. 

straught  (gutt.),  adj.  straight. 
[M.E.  straught,  A.S.  streht,  ptc. 
of  streccken,  streccan  ;  Sc.  streetchy 
or  streeki\ 

streekit, //c.  stretched,  [streek, 
see  above.] 

striddle,  ?,'.  freq.  of  stride. 

stroan,  v.  urinate. 

strunt,  n.  spirits. 

studdie  (for  stiddie),  n.  stithy, 
anvil.     [M.E.  stith  ;  O.N.  ste&i.'\ 

stuff,  n.  grain  crops  (these  being 
'material'  for  sustenance).  [Cf. 
O.Fr.  estoffer,  to  furnish  with 
necessaries.] 

stumpie,  n.  dim.  of  stump,  a 
well-worn  quill.  [M.E.  stutnpe ; 
O.N.  stump-r^ 

stumpin,//^.  walking  stiffly  and 
heavily. 

sturt,  n.  trouble,  turmoil,  strife. 
[Cf.  M.E.  sturte,  impetuosity.] 

sturtin,//r.  troubled,  frightened. 
[Same.] 

style,  see  stile. 

sucker,  «.  sugar.     [Fr.  sucre?^ 

sud,  V.  should.  [Past  of  sail, 
shall;  cf.  M.E.  sulde?^ 

sugh,  see  sough. 

sumph,  ;/.  a  dull  soft  fellow. 

swaird, ;/.  sward.  [A.S.  sweard, 
skin.] 

swall,  V.  swell. 

swank,  adj.  well-built  and  with- 
out spare  flesh,  supple,  '  strappin.' 
[A.S.  swancor,  agile ;  cf.  O.N. 
svang-r,  slim.] 

swankie,  n.  'strappin  chiel,'  a 
•swank '  young  man. 


swap,  V.  and  n.  exchange. 
[Perh.  M.E.  swappeit,  to  strike; 
cf.  "■  strike  a  bargain.'] 

swat,  /.  of  swite,  sweat.  [A.S. 
swat,  per.spiration  ;  cf.  O.N.  sveiti.'\ 

swatch,  «.  sample.  [Prop,  a 
strip  of  cloth  cut  off ;  same  word 
as  Eng.  swath  ^ 

swats,  n.  ale.  [A.S.  swdtan 
(pi.),  ale.] 

swirl,  V.  and  n.  curl,  whirl. 
[Cf.  Norw.  svirla.'\ 

swirlie,  adj.  full  of  twists, 
knotty.      \swirl.'\ 

swither,  n.  state  of  hesitation. 
[A.S.  swce&er,  whichever  of  two.] 

swoor,  past  of  swear.  [M.E. 
and  A.S.  swor,  swerian.'\ 

syne,  adv.  then,  thereafter. 
[M.E.  siji,  si&&e7i.^ 

Tae,  «.  toe  ;  tae'd,  toed.  [M.E., 
A.S.,  and  O.N.  /J.] 

taen,  ptc.  of  tak,  taken. 

tak,  V.  take. 

Tarn,  n.  Thomas ;  dim.  Tarmnie. 

tangle, «.  seaweed.  \0.^.hang, 
hongiill ;  Dan.  tang.'] 

tangs,  ft.  tongs.  [M.E.  and  A.S. 
ta>!ge.] 

tap,  «.  top,  head. 

tapetless,  adj.  torpid,  lifeless, 
numb  (esp.  with  cold).  [Sc.  tal>ets, 
bodily  sensation.] 

tapsalteerie,  adv.  topsy-turvy. 

tarrow,  v.  show  lothness.  [An- 
other form  of  tarry  ;  M.E.  targen  ; 
O.Fr.  targier.l 

tassie,  n.  goblet.     [Fr.  tasse."] 

tauld,  past  of  tell.  [Cf.  M.E. 
talde.'] 


280 


GLOSSARY. 


tawie,  adj.  tractable,  tame. 
[taw,  to  handle  much ;  M.E. 
tawot ;  A.S.  tdwian,  to  treat, 
prepare.] 

tawtet,  ptc.  matted,  shaggy. 
[Cf.  O.N.  ttvta,  to  tease  wool ; 
tot,  a  flock  of  wool.] 

teat,  also  taet,  n.  small  quan- 
tity.    [Perh.  O.N.  tccta,  shreds.] 

teen,  n.  vexation.  [Obs.  Eng. 
teen;  M..}L.  teone,  tene ;  A.S.  teomi, 
injury.] 

1.  tent,  n.  box-pulpit,  used 
in  open-air  preachings,  with  a 
covering  stretched  overhead.  [L. 
tendere.^ 

2.  tent,  n.  care,  heed :  v.  take 
care  of ;  heed.  [M.^.  tent,  afente ; 
Fr.  attendre.']  Wh.  teiitie,  careful ; 
tentless,  heedless. 

tester,  n.  small  coin  ;  sixpence. 
[For  testerft  fr.  O.Fr.  teste,  head 
(from  the  stamp).] 

teughly,  adi'.  toughly.  [M.E. 
and  A.S.  toh,  tough.] 

thack,  n.  thatch.  [M.E.  t/iak ; 
A.S.  i>(BC,  a  roof.] 

thack  an'  rape,  see  T.  D.,  78, 
note,  and  B.  A.,  2,  note. 

th&e, />ron.  those.     [A.S.  J>d.] 

thairm,  n.  gut ;  intestines  of 
animals  used  for  '  puddins,'  also 
for  fiddlestrings.  [M.E.  thm-m  ; 
A.S.  f>earm.'\ 

thairm-inspirin,  adj.  inspiring 
the  fiddlestrings. 

that,  adv.  so  ;  nae  that  foil,  not 
so  very  full. 

thegither,  adv.  together. 

the-morn,  adv.  to-morrow. 
■  thick,  ar/)'.  intimate ;  ci.  pack. 


thieveless,  adj.  without  'virtue,' 
ill-natured,  cold,  inactive,  bootless. 
[Also  thowless ;  M.E.  and  A.S. 
tieaw,  virtue.] 

thir,  pron.  these.     [O.N.  /«>.] 

thirl,  V.  thrill.  [M.E.  thurlen  ; 
A.S.  J>y>'lian,  to  pierce ;  cf.  dirl 
and  drill.'] 

thole,  V.  suffer,  endure.  [M.E. 
tholen  ;    A.S.  Jiolian  ;  O.N. /o/a.] 

thowe,  n.  thaw.  [M.E.  thowe ; 
A.S.  JiSwian.'] 

thrang,  n.  throng,  press :  adj. 
busy,  in  great  numbers.  [M.E. 
and  A.S.  Jij-artg,  a  crowd.] 

thrave,  n.  two  'stocks'  of  cut 
grain,  twenty-four  sheaves.  [M.E. 
thj-eve  ;  O.N./  refi.  ] 

thraw,  n.  and  v.  twist.  [M.E. 
thrawen  ;  A.S.  }>rdwaft^ 

thretteen,  adj.  thirteen.  [M.E. 
threottcne  ;  A.S.  i>7'eotiene.~\ 

thrissle,  n.  thistle. 

through,  V.  carry  through,  ac- 
complish ;  mak  to  through,  manage 
to  finish. 

throu'  ther  =  thi-ongh  ither, 
through  each  other,  indiscrimi- 
nately, in  confusion. 

thrum,  V.  hum,  'birr';  strum. 
[O.N.  hrymr,  noise.] 

thud,  V.  make  a  heavy  booming 
sound. 

tiend,  n.  tithe.  [Dan.  tiende ; 
O.N.  tmnd^^ 

tight  (gutt.),  adj.  well-knit  and 
shapely,  '  strappin.' 

till,  prep.  to.     [O.N.  ///.] 

timmer,  ;/.  wood  ;  timber. 

tine,  V.  lose.  [M.E.  tinen  ;  O.N. 
tyna.l 


GLOSSARY. 


281 


tinkler,  ;/.  tinker,  vagabond 
worker  in  tin ;  wh.  vagabond. 
[till/;,  tinkle.'] 

tint,  see  tine. 

tip,  see  toop.     [The  /  is  local.] 

tippence,  n.  twopence. 

tippenny,  n.  twopenny  ale. 

tirl,  V.  strip  the  roof  off.  [Freq. 
of  tirr,  to  strip,  pluck  off.] 

tither,  adj.  other  :  only  with  def. 
art.  the  tither.  [Cf.  the  tane  (the 
one) ;  A.S.  ka:t  ««,  haet  o&er.] 

tittle,  //.  sister.  [A  corruption  ; 
cf.  sissy.] 

tittlin,  />te.  chattering.  [Cf. 
titt/e-tattie.] 

tocher,  n.  marriage  portion.  [C. 
totrhradh.l 

tod,  «.  fox.  [Prob.  from  tod, 
bush,  on  account  of  his  tail;  O.N. 
toddi,  a  tod  of  wool.] 

toddy,  n.  whiskey  punch. 

todle,  V.  walk  unsteadily,  as  a 
child. 

toom,  adj.  empty.  [M.E.  and 
A.S.  torn,  free  from  ;  O.N.  tomr^ 

toon,  see  toun. 

toop,  tip,  n.  tup,  ram. 

toss,  n.  toast ;  belle  (from  the 
custom  of  toasting  the  reigning 
beauty). 

toun,  n.  farm-stead.  [A.S.  and 
O.N.  tun,  an  enclosure,  farmhouse 
and  buildings.] 

tousie,  towsie,  adj.  .shaggy,  tum- 
bled (of  hair).  [M.E.  tosen ;  A.S. 
tieseu,  to  tease.] 

tout  (pron.  toot  with  prolonged 
vowel),  V.  lilow  a  blast  of  a 
trumpet.     [Imit.  word.] 

tow  (pw  as  in  cow),  n.  rope,  bell 


pull.  \M.\L.  to7ven  ;  A.S.  togian  ; 
O.N.  toga,  to  pull ;  tang,  a  rope.] 

towmond,  n.  twelvemonth. 
[O.N.  tolf;  Dan.  tolv,  twelve  (w. 
/  and  V  softened),  and  month.'] 

town,  see  toun. 

towsie,  see  tousie. 

toyte,  v.  totter,  '  todle.' 

transmugrified,  ftc.  metamor- 
phosed. 

trashtrie,  n.  trash  [=trashe}y. 
For  the  t  cf.  was  trie]. 

trig,  adj.  neat,  spruce.  [Akin 
to  Kng.  trick,  adorn.] 

trouth,  trowth,  adv.  troth,  in 
truth. 

tryste,  n.  agreement,  appoint- 
ment ;  wh.  a  hiring-market,  fair. 
[M.E.  tryst,  trust;  O.N.  treysta, 
to  rely  on] 

trysted,  ptc.  agreed  upon. 

twa,  adj.  two. 

twal,  adj.  twelve. 

twin,  V.  divide  in  twain,  sepa- 
rate; wh.  deprive.  \}<l.Y..twinnen; 
cf.  A.  S.  getwinne.] 

tyke,  n.  dog,  cur.  [M.E.  ti/ce ; 
O.N.  tik.] 

Unco,  adj.  uncouth ;  strange, 
unusual :  adv.  very,  uncommonly. 
[M.E.  and  A.S.  uncii&,  unknown.] 

uncos,  >!.  odds  and  ends  of  news. 

unfauld,  z'.  unfold. 

unsicker,  adj.  unsteady,  untrust- 
worthy,    [sid'er.] 

usquebae, ;/.  whiskey.  [C.  uisge 
beatha,  aqua  vitae.] 

Vauntie,  adj.  proud,  boastful. 
[Fr.  7a liter,  to  boast.] 


282 


GLOSSARY. 


vera,  adv.  very.  [Cf.  obs.  Eng. 
veray ;  O.Fr.  verai?^ 

virl,  n.  ring,  ferrule.  [M.E.  and 
O.Fr.  virolei\ 

VOgie  [g  hard),  adj.  vain,  proud. 

Wa',  n.  wall. 

wabster,  n.  weaver.  [M.E. 
webstcre ;  A.S.  webbestre,  a  female 
weaver.] 

1.  wad,  V.  would.  [Cf.  M.E. 
•walde?^ 

2.  wad,  V.  wed  ;  wager,  pledge. 
[M.E.  and  A.S.  wedd,  a  pledge  ; 
cf.  Sw.  vad.'\ 

wae,  n.  woe  :  adj.  woful,  vexed. 
[A.S.  wa,  wa ;  O.N.  vei^ 

waesucks,  interj.  alas. 

wae  worth,  see  worth. 

waft,  ;/.  weft,  woof.  [M.E.  and 
A.S.  weft?[ 

wair,^'.  spend.  [O.N.zrr/«,tolay 
out  money;  A.S.  werian,  wear.] 

wale,  n.  choice :  v.  choose, 
select.    [M.E.  walen  ;  O.N.  velja.'] 

walie,  adj.  goodly ;  powerful. 
[Prob.  from  7uale.'\ 

wallop,  V.  swing  loosely :  n. 
loose  and  unsteady  movement. 
{M.'E.walop  ;  Yr.  galop  ;  O.  Flem. 
walof,  gallop.] 

wame,  n.  belly,  stomach.  [M.E. 
wambe ;  A.S.  ivamb^ 

wan,  V.  past  of  7vin. 

wanchancie,  adj.  unlucky. 
[M.E.  wail-,  un- ;  A.S.  wan; 
O.N.  van-r,  lacking,  and  chaiicei\ 

wanrestfu',  adj.  unrestful,  rest- 
less.    [See  above.] 

ware,  v.  worn.  [Form  not  legiti- 
mate.] 


wark,  n.  work. 

warl',  warld,  n.  world. 

warlock,  n.  wizard.  [M.E.  war- 
loghe,  a  deceiver  (esp.  the  devil); 
A.S.  wter,  troth;  loga,  liar.] 

warly,  warldly,  adj.  worldly. 

warsle,  v.  wrestle,  struggle, 
twist.     [M.E.  wrastlen.'] 

warst,  adj.  worst. 

wastrie,  n.  waste,  \wastery ; 
cf.  trashtrie^ 

1.  wat,  adj.  wet. 

2.  wat,  V.  trow,  know.  [M.E. 
witen ;  A.S.  witan ;  pres.  ind. 
wdt?\ 

wattle,  n.  wand,  flexible  rod. 
[A.S.  watol,  a  hurdle.] 

wauble,  v.  wabble,  reel,  move 
unsteadily. 

waught  (gutt.),  n.  draught  of 
liquor.  [For  qiiaught,  fr.  C.  cuach, 
a  beaker,  bcwl ;  Eng.  quaff  \s,  cog- 
nate.] 

1.  wauk,  wauken,  v.  wake, 
awaken. 

2.  wauk,  wauket,  ptc.  thick- 
ened and  hardened  (through 
shrinking).  [M.E.  walkien,  to 
full,  fr.  A.S.  wealcan,  to  roll,  toss; 
cf.  the  name  Walker,  and  Dan. 
valke,  to  full  cloth.] 

waukrife,  adj.  sleepless,  wake- 
ful.    \wauk  I.  and  rife,  plentiful.] 

waur,  adj.  worse :  v.  worst,  get 
the  better  of.  \yi.Yj.werre,worre  ; 
O.N.  verri ;  Dan.  vcerre.'\ 

wean,  n.  child ;  dim.  weanie. 
[M.E.  wenen ;  A.S.  wenian,  to 
wean  ;  cf.  Eng.  weanling?[ 

weason,  n.  weasand,  throat. 
[M.E.  and  A.S.  wdsend.'] 


GLOSSARY. 


283 


1.  wecht,  n.  weight.  [M.E. 
weghen  ;  h.'&.  tvcganP^ 

2.  wecht,  11-  an  instrument  for 
winnowing  grain,  like  a  sieve  with- 
out the  holes,  the  bottom  being  of 
stretched  sheepskin.  [M.E.  laeg- 
gen  ;  A..S.  wecgan,  to  shake.] 

wee,  adj.  little ;  tvee  bit,  used  as 
adj.  slight ;  wee  thing,  adv.  slightly. 
[Obs.  Eng.  we,  as  in  a  little  we,  a 
little  bit,  a  short  way;  prob.  fr. 
M.E.  wei ;  A.S.  weg.'] 

weed,  n.  array.  [M.E.  and  A.S. 
wade,  garment.] 

weeder-clips,  n.  shears  for  cut- 
ting weeds. 

weal,  tt.  prosperity  :  adv.  well ; 
weel  I  wat,  I  'm  sure ;  weel-won, 
honorably  earned,  hard-worked- 
for. 

weepers,  ji.  mourning  bands. 

weet,  >t.  and  v.  wet. 

well,  n.  eddy.  [M.E.  and  A.S. 
wal.l 

we'se,  V.  we  shall. 

westlin,  adj.  westerly. 

wha,  wham,  whase,  jron.  who, 
whom,  whose. 

whaizle,  e'.  wheeze.  [A.S. 
kwesn>t.^ 

whalpit,  ptc.  whelped. 

whang.  It.  large  thick  slice. 
[Prob.  conn.  w.  whack;  cf.  Sc. 
use  of  dicitt,  a  lilow,  or  a  large 
piece.] 

whare,  whaur,  adv.  where. 
[M.E.  and  A.S.  hwiJr,  hwdr.'] 

whatna,    adj.    what    kind    of. 

wheep,  «.  see  peimy-whecp. 

I.  whid,;"'.  whisk,  move  rapidly  : 
H.  rapid  movement. 


2.  whid, ;/.  fib,  falsehood. 

whigmaleerie,  >t.  whimsies, 
crotchets.  [The  name  of  a  ridicu- 
lous drinking-game.] 

whiles,  adv.  sometimes.  [Adv. 
gen.  of  while  and  the  more  primi- 
tive form  of  "whilst.'] 

whin,  whinstane, «.  greenstone, 
trap.  [Said  to  be  for  whern-stone, 
millstone,  fr.  quern,  a  mill.] 

whins,  n.  gorse.  [C.  chwyn, 
weeds.] 

whintle,  see  tvintle. 

whip,  V.  snatch. 

whirligigum,  n.  fantastic  orna- 
ment. 

whirrin,  ptc.  word  expressive  of 
the  flight  of  a  partridge.  [Imit. 
word  ;  cf.  Dan.  hvirrei\ 

whisht,  11.  silence :  prop,  an 
interj. 

whitter,  w.  dram,  drink. 

whittle,  n.  knife.  [M.E.  thwitel ; 
A.S.  hwTtan,  to  pare;  wh.  Sc. 
white,  to  cut.] 

whunstane,  see  whin. 

wi',  p>'c'p.  with. 

widdie,  woodie,  ;/.  rope  (prop, 
of  withes),  halter.  [M.E.  wi&i,  a 
willow;  A.S.  7i;//"<^;^'-.] 

wile,  wyle,  >i.  instinct,  penetra- 
tion ;  ruse,  artifice :  v.  lure,  entice. 
[M.E.  7«7^;  A.S.wtl.'] 

willyart,  adj.  wild,  shy.  [Same 
as  2oill,  astray,  with  term,  -art.] 

wily,  adj.  astute,  shrewd. 
[wile.] 

wimple,  V.  meander ;  ripple. 
[I'rol).  freq.  of  wimp,  doublet  of 
wind,  twist.] 

I.    win,  V.  winnow,     ['oind.] 


284 


GLOSSARY. 


2.  win,  V.  get;  reach.  [M.E. 
winnen ;  A.S.  winnan,  to  toil, 
suffer.] 

winna,  v.  will  not. 

winnock,  n.  window.  [M.E. 
whtdowe ;  O.N.  vindaiiga,  lit.  wind- 
eye.] 

win't,  past  of  w/«(/^  wound; 
cf.  stall' t. 

wintle,  V.  stagger,  reel.  [Freq. 
of  ivind ;  A.S.  "windan,  twist.] 

winze,  n.  oath,  curse.  [Cf.  Du. 
verwenscken,  to  curse.] 

wiss,  V.  wish.  [Cf.  buss, 
bush.] 

wistna,  v.  wist  not,  knew  not. 
[Past  of  ■wat.'] 

wizened,  ptc.  dried  up,  wrinkled. 
[M.E.  wisenen  ;  A.S.  wisnian  ; 
O.N.  visna.'\ 

wonner,  n.  wonder;  scai-ecrow. 
[Cf.  hunner.~\ 

WOOdie,  n.  see  widdie. 

wooer-bab,  n.  lovers'  knot. 
[See  bab^ 

1 .  wordie,  «.  dim.  of  word. 

2.  wordie,  adj.  worthy, 
worset,    71.    and    adj.    worsted. 

[A  corruption.] 

worth,  V.  be,  happen ;  wae 
■worth,  woe  be  to.  [M.E.  wurtkeit ; 
A.S.  weorS'an.^ 

WOW,  interj.  oh  ! 

wrack,  v.  vex,  torment. 

wrang,  ;/.  and  adj.  wrong:  v. 
injure.  [M.E.  and  A..S.  wrang,  fr. 
wringati,  to  twist.] 

writer,  «.  solicitor,  lawyer. 
[W.S.,  Writer  to  the  Signet,  a  title 
in  Scots  Law.] 


wud,  adj.  mad,  crazy.  [Obs. 
Eng.  wood ;    M.E.  and  A.S.  wod.'\ 

wyle,  see  wile. 

wyte,  n.  and  v.  blame.  [M.E. 
and  A.S.  wite,  punishment.] 

Yard,  yaird,  w.  garden.  [M.E. 
yard ;  A.S.  geard,  enclosure.] 

yealins,  n.  things  or  persons  of 
the  same  age.  [Also  yeildins, 
eildins,  fr.  eildi\ 

yell,  adj.  giving  no  milk.  [Also 
yeld ;  M.E.  ge/de ;  O.'N.  ge/d-r.] 

yerk,  v.  jerk,  tug. 

yestreen,  adv.  yester-even,  last 
night. 

yett,  «.  gate.  [M.E.  yate;  A.S. 
geat.] 

yeuk,  z*.  itch.  [Dvl.  jeuhen  ;  cf. 
A.S.  giccan  ;  M.E.  yiken,  yicchen  ; 
Eng.  itch.'\ 

yill,  n.  ale.  [jj/  is  local;  cf. 
yin  =  aneP\ 

yill-caup,  «.  ale  mug. 

yird,  n.  earth. 

yirr,  v.  gnar,  snarl.  [M.E. 
yeorren  ;  A.S.  georran,  girran."] 

yokin,  ;/.  yoking,  half  a  day's 
work ;  wh.  in  general,  a  '  bout.' 
(See  Ep.  Mrs.  Scott,  4,  note.) 

yont,  prep,  beyond.  [Also 
ayont ;  cf.  ahint.'] 

younker,  n.  youngster,  young 
person.  [Cf.  Du.  jonker ;  Dan. 
jti7iker^ 

yowe,  n.  ewe.  [Dim.  yowie ; 
A.S.  eow.'] 

yule,  «.  Christmas.  [M.E.  yol ; 
A.S.  geol ;  O.lS.jot,  festival  of  the 
midwinter  solstice.] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


A    guid    New-Year    I    wish    thee, 

Maggie,  67. 
A'  ye  wha  live  by  sowps  o'  drink, 

106. 
Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever, 

154- 
Again  rejoicing  Nature  sees,  94. 
As  Mailie  an'  her  lambs  thegither, 

4- 

Behind    yon    hills    where    Lugar 

flows,  8. 
Braw  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes, 

162. 
But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green, 

166. 
By  Ochtertyre  grows  the  aik,  129. 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi' 
mair,  167. 

Dear  Smith,   the  slee-est  pawkie 

thief,  79. 
Duncan  Gray  came  here  to  woo, 

160. 

Farewell,  ye  dungeons   dark  and 
strong,  130. 

Flow  gently,  sweet   Afton,  among 
thy  green  Ijraes,  i  53. 


Gat  ye  me,  O  gat  ye  me,  169. 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine,  135. 

Guid-mornin  to  your  Majesty,  loi. 


Hark !    the   mavis'  evening  sang, 

165. 
Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering 

Willie,  162. 
How  pleasant  the  banks   of   the 

clear  winding  Devon,  129. 


I  gat  your  letter,  winsome  Willie, 

3-- 
I  mind  it  weel  in  early  date,  122. 
I  lang  hae  thought,  my  youthfu' 

friend,  98. 
In  this  strange  land,  this  uncouth 

clime,  132. 
Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool,  108. 
Is  there,  for  honest  poverty,  168. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John,  135. 

Lament     in     rhyme,     lament     in 

prose,  6. 
Last  May  a  braw  wooer  cam  down 

the  lang  glen,  170. 
Let  other  j^oets  raise  a  fracas,  63. 


286 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


My  heart  is  a-breaking,  dear  tittie, 

136. 
My  honour'd  Colonel,  deep  I  feel, 

171. 
My  lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear, 

126. 
My    lov'd,    my    honour'd,    much 

respected  friend,  49. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe 

Nature  arrays,  167. 
Now    simmer   blinks    on    flowery 

braes,  125. 

O    Death!    thou    tyrant    fell    an' 

bloody,  141. 
O  leeze  me  on  my  spinnin  wheel, 

156. 
O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be,  2. 
O  saw  ye  bonie  Lesley,  157. 
O  thou  unknown  Almighty  Cause, 

3- 

O  thou !  whatever  title  suit  thee,  16. 
O  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day,  i. 
O,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

173- 
O  whistle,  an'  I  '11  come  to  you, 

my  lad,  163. 
O,  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut, 

137- 
O  ye  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel,  92. 
Of    a'    the    airts    the    wind    can 

blaw,  133. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
164. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  for- 
got, 134- 

Some  books  are  lies  frae  end  to 
end,  21. 


The  bairns  gat   out  wi'  an  unco 

shout,  155. 
The   Catrine   woods  were   yellow 

seen,  46. 
The  deil  cam  fiddling  through  the 

town,  156. 
The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness,  164. 
The    sun    had   clos'd    the    winter 

day,  85. 
There    was    a    lad    was    born    in 

Kyle,  15. 
There's  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry 

han',  9. 
They  snool  me  sair  an'  haud  me 

down,  153. 
This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns, 

116. 
Thou  ling'ring  star,  with  less'ning 

ray,  138. 
'Twas  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's 

isle,  71. 
'T  was    when    the    stacks   get   on 

their  winter-hap,  109. 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn,  35. 
Upon    that    night,    when    fairies 
light,  55. 

Wee,       modest,      crimson-tipped 

flow'r,  96. 
Wee,     sleekit,     cowrin,     tim'rous 

beastie,  47. 
What  will   I  do  gin  my  Hoggie 

die,  131. 
When     biting     Boreas,    fell    and 

doure,  117. 
When  chapman  billies  leave  the 

street,  145. 
When    o'er   the   hill    the   eastern 

star,  158. 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


287 


While  at  the  stook  the  shearers 
cow'r,  43. 

While  briers  and  woodbines  bud- 
ding green,  27. 

While  winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond 
blaw,  ID. 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my 
Mary,  98. 


Wow,   but    your  letter  made  me 
vauntie,  139. 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams 

around,  159. 
Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonie  Doon, 

152. 


UC  SOUTHERN!  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


mill  mil  III  I 
AA      000  275  066"'"5" 


